


At the Seams

by AnnieAnnProps



Series: String Theory [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/F, Origin Story, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Pining, Plot, Sad, Slow Burn, Tracer centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 113,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7413556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieAnnProps/pseuds/AnnieAnnProps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lena "Tracer" Oxton; the girl who fell through time. To see the world in all it's horror and glory; its pockets of gentle and caskets of pain. </p><p>Down, drowning, desperate</p><p>She failed Mondatta, I failed all of them over and over. Never again, not when I'm still breathing. </p><p>Mum always called me a stubborn little thing.</p><p>This time, I'll get it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slip

**Author's Note:**

> It's a journey, i like writing things in a kind of difficult format. It's how i think so I hold this work a bit closer than others. No promises that I'll finish it but damn and i'm stoked for this plot.

It _hurt_

Tearing, throbbing, tumbling down

All she can see are blurs of colors and jumbled voices; as if all that existed in that moment, in any moment, surrounds her. Shallow breathes rush in and out, never enough, burning sometimes with frigid air 

or the smell of a home.

“Is anyone there?!” She screams

The silence is hollow, her voice echoing. 

Again she is falling, not down, but in all directions. Lena can feel herself dissipate, desperately trying to keep it all together. The more she fights, the more pain lances through a body she cannot see.

Again, away, lost

* * *

Time passes, at least she thinks so. 

It’s a cycle, random at best; constant at worst. Only a few moments of _being_ , not even whole.

The first time she can feel the warm sunlight on her face she cries. 

A meadow with flowers she cannot smell, life she cannot hear, but does she _feel_ it. Bare hands run through the tall grass still wet with morning dew; her leather gloves tossed somewhere. 

For a few moments, Lena lies there; smile small, throat still tight, knowing that only for a few moments…

Until the pulling comes back.

Lena doesn’t fight it anymore, it only hurts if she does. She allows the scenery around her to warp and shift as it pleases. Now, she stands on the runway she had taken off on in the _Slipstream_.

There are bits that are different, patches of concrete flicker from a grey smooth surface to jagged rubble. 

Uneven steps takes her to where the attached research facility should’ve stand.

Used to stand

Does stand?

She can’t tell, it’s a pile of rubble where the half the third story somehow still exists just as she remembers it.

It’s day time?

The runway illuminated by the noon sun but the windows are lit up with the starry sky surrounding the building that doesn’t stand.

The pulling is back, but she can hear voices with words cutting in and out. Half shadows unattached souls paint the ground.

Like trying to keep a closed fist around a handful of stinging ants. A while longer, maybe, hope.

“…saw….swear…..here”

She can’t feel the tears on her face, their salty smell and taste is all that indicates their existence. Her body fights her, wanting her to just let it happen. but all she wants is to run to the shadows, to see someone, touch them and be touched.

“I’m here.” It’s a whisper tight with pain, the universe tearing her apart.

“ _Lena!”  
_

Cold wetness splashes around her left foot. She knows by now that visually, in this moment, her foot is on dry ground. However, perhaps in another plane of being, another time frame, somewhere else.

Still she presses forward, unseen icy water up to her thighs, soaking through her flight pants that are still dry. It numbs the pain still in her throat, still in her body.

And still she fights.

”…na!?”

_No, no, no, please  
_

Cold up to her chest,

Shivering, shaking, somber

Only a few more moment until she’d be ripped away again. Reaching out, a desperate action, hoping that-

Warm hands wrap tightly around hers.

”Please”

Her choked sob is lost as the world blurs away.

Alone again.


	2. Piles

Wet ragged breaths, salty water burning my throat. My eyes refuse to open.

“Lena, are you alright?”

There is sun beating down on me, on my skin…bare skin. Course hairs tickle my stomach as a large arm hauls me up out the the water. I can hear my voice laughing.

“Don’t worry little pup, I’ve got you!” A booming voice, I don’t see his face but I sense it. He looks just like he sounds; always smiling with wrinkles on his broad face. 

_Reinhardt Wilhelm_

But I’ve never met this man in person. No wait, have I?

The world spins, the smell of roses and soap. Something warm presses against me back, slender arms wrap around my waist. This time, my eyes comply. There are candles.

A bathroom, a tub, gentle strokes on my hands. Another pair of legs frame mine.

I can feel breath and words murmured into the back of my neck but nothing reaches my ears. Fear wells up despite the delicate nature of it all.

In a blink, the pulling is back. I embrace it, willing it to tear me away from this memory

This possibility

This…

It’s when I stop for a breath do I realize I have been screaming. The world is grey with a rumbling hum, the air dry and full of static. It’s cold, hot, then warm, frigid. All at once, crushing.

_Please, I just want this to be over._

“Lena, can you hear me in there.” 

Tapping

“Winston!” I whip around, finally noticing the thick windows lining one side of the apparent room. His hand is pressed on the glass, his face worried, smiling sadly.

“I-I,” Lost for words, the glass is cold to the touch. “I’m so scared, love.” Voice small, hand small.

“I know, we’re going to fix this, Lena.” Another figure comes into focus beside him, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail.

“Hang in there, miss Oxton.” Angela, I remember, she did my physical before I was cleared to fly the Slipstream. It reassures me to know that they’re both working on…fixing this?

I am not broken, no, I’ll fight.

The conversation never occurs, or at least I don’t remember it. In a moment I am alone in the dim chamber. At some point, there is a bottle of water and a few ration bars next to me. I hear their voices, my voice, sirens; a memory.

_“How long have I been gone?”_

_“2 months”_

_“Where am I?”_

_“Prototype chamber. In theory, it should stabilize attract and stabilize all your particles.”_

_“So I’m not all here yet, would explain why I taste pop right now.”_

A chuckle

Somehow I sleep, I think I sleep. My eyes close and I feel like I’m floating.

Weightless, Mindless, Bodyless

It’s nice, everything’s here; all the sights, sounds, tastes, smells. It feels real.

I hear horses outside the large window overlooking a sea of grass. My hands are cutting something, carrots for tonight’s stew. The apron on my shoulders is far too large, I have to stand on a stool to reach the kitchen counter.

“Lena dear, would you be so kind to go into the cellar and bring up a few radishes.” A woman with a southern drawl, kind and motherly. She stands over the stove as she spoons apples into a pie crust.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large shadow pass a door frame. Every muscle in body seizes up, the knife I’m holding clatters to the tile floor. Dread, this is a dream, nothing can hurt me here.

A dream

“Goodness, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sticky hands pull my face away from the movement, forcing me to look at the woman. Her face is blurry, unfocused, not real; lips move and disappear into a gaping maw. Shocked, I take a step back and off the stool.

The kitchen tilts.

Down

Falling

Silence

Cold creeps back into my nerves; my face is flat against the dusty floor of the chamber. I let out a choked sob and scurry back.

Littering the floor are empty bottles and wrappers, piles of them. Tally marks are scratched into every surface. The humming is gone, the lights are gone, it’s all gone.

Empty rubble is the only thing I see through the dirty windows.

Breathe, breathe, throat tightens, hands, eyes. I am here.

A hand brushes the back of my neck, coaxing me into an embrace. There is no one there but the scent of ozone. I don’t care that I can’t see whoever it is; I sob into their chest, soft like a sweater.

_“We’ll fix this.”_

_“I know.”_

I whisper.

It fades.

The pulling doesn’t come, I feel as real as ever. I sit for a bit, watching the sun rise and set over the broken landscape. There is no visible door to the room, no buttons, nothing. 

I keep waiting

But everything stays the same.

1, 2, 3

I count the wrappers to pass the time, smoothing them out and placing them into neat little piles.

37, 38, 39

The bottles join them. Cute little piles.

174, 175, 176

Time passes

207, 208, 209

Nothing changes

297, 298, 299

They’re all in their neat little piles. 

363, 364, 365

Cute little piles over on the other side. 

411, 412, 413 

And yet more keep appearing. I stop and turn around to find ten more wrappers under the cot, two more bottles, seven more wrappers, fifteen more bottles.

515, 516, 517

I stop counting and the mess comes back to bury my piles. Instead, I start counting the tally marks.

1, 2, 3

Neat little tally marks

586, 587, 588

Cute little tally marks

702, 703, 704

Time passes

856, 857, 858

Nothing changes.


	3. Red

It starts strangely enough with my left middle toe.

Like fire, it feels as though the skin peels away to reveal scorching embers; spreading to the other toes, then to my leg in a matter of minutes. A woosh of cold air tears through the room, scattering the wrappers like doves.

There are voices and more sirens; something solid throws me back and pins me to the ground.

The wrappers are gone, the walls are clean, humming fills my ears.

_ “Move swiftly!”  _

I panic and struggle, I know I shouldn’t, it is Angela’s voice that barks out orders. The chamber is still empty but can feel hands lifting me up onto a gurney. My pulse quickens when I feel metal enclose around my ankles and wrists.

A sharp prick stabs into my arm. 

Calmness

_ “Oxton.” _ A pause, a reassuring squeeze on my hand.  _ “Lena, this might hurt, we don’t know but please stay with us.” _

I want to believe her, her voice holds a hint of fear but she puts on a brave face for me, to comfort me. My limbs cease struggling, they twitch now and then but do nothing to pull against the invisible restraints. 

Seconds pass, nothing happens. 

Did I fall through time again? 

Strapped to a bed I cannot see?

The air rushes out of my chest with a shrill scream that echoes. 

Pain lances through my chest. I look down with tears blurring my vision. There’s a long cut from my collar bones to the bottom of my sternum. White bone peers out from where the flesh has been parted.

Nausea hits me like a train, spinning with the sharp scent of blood

The pulling comes back.

_ “She’s fading!”  _

It’s too much

_ “We can’t lose her.”  _

I close my eyes. Release, slip away, it hurts too much. Then I see her face, a smile warm. His face, a nod of approval. All of them; my friends, colleagues, family. It's cliche, but there is a surge of determination that swells within me. They're doing their best, trying their hardest to save me.  


I fight it, for the first time in day/weeks/months I fight against the universe.

With a loud whine, holes are drilled into my ribs. I keep crying, keep fighting, gritting my teeth. For a moment, the chamber falls away, I look to see myself surrounded by decaying buildings.

A red glow illuminates the streets. My back to a dented wall, something blue flickering on my chest. 

Footsteps, I look up. It’s Angela and another woman; dark skinned with a tattoo under her right eye, but the left side of her face is…

I can’t focus, the pain pulls me back to the bed.

Screeching, screaming, 

_ Save me _

Every molecule of my demands that I let got.

It feels like a punch in the chest when something metal is screwed into place. My vision pulses and morphs, shadows floating in and out of sight. Their voices are louder.

“..cc, 3rd 4th rib…”

“Doctor?” It’s the first word I’ve spoken in, well, a while. Time has sort of lost meaning at this point. 

“You’re doing great Lena.” Another piece slots into my chest, I can see the blinking shackles encasing my limbs. 

It gets easier to fight the pulling

However, the pain comes sharper, washing wave after wave of agony over my nerves. My lungs barely able to fill themselves, no more tears fall. 

Another flash, back to the shattered streets basked in red. There are more of them, all their eyes have the same red glint to them. Angela is kneeling down to me now; different, but the same face.

_ “I’ll save you, Lena.”  _

I don’t want to be saved.

A small whimper, back to the bed. The hole in my chest is being stitched up. 

I can see them all; Winston, Angela, an army of scientists and doctors. I blink

once

twice  


The pulling is gone.

There is still an angry red streak where the cut was made. In the center of it all sits a glimmering contraption about the size of my fist. It pulses in time with my heart beat. 

“Hello?” I try, unsure, hoping. 

_ Can they hear me? _

_ Am I really here? _

“Hello...” His voice is the softest I've ever heard it. Winston lowers whatever pad he was looking at and smooths over my hair. “Welcome back.”

I smile, try to, an oxygen mask is strapped to my face.

The cuffs fall away, the mask stays, a warm sheet pulled up to my chin. The word ‘success’ is passed around.

“You should sleep, Miss Oxton.” Angela walks beside me as the gurney is wheeled out of the room. 

_ Like an angel _

“You got it. Thanks doc” My eyelids droop. 

The air turns sour, the pristine hallway crumbles before me. The smell of ozone is back, Angela’s face is back, the straps are back.  


_ “You’re welcome.” _


	4. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god this took forever. I'm still trying to figure out Overwatch's timeline but hey, here we go. Really long, kinda fluffy, kind edgy. A little about myself, structuring bits of the Mercy/Tracer dynamic on my own personal experience. oof, love man, sucks sometimes.   
> Inspiration / look at this theory! ( http://blackbookalpha.tumblr.com/post/146931514940/taking-a-break-from-gremlin-dva-comics-need-to )

White nothing

I guess I can’t complain; the lack of dreams is better than the company of nightmares. 

Warm fingertips press into the tender skin around whatever has been screwed into my chest. A strangled noise rips across my tongue, eyes shooting open. Dim room speckled with dancing stars. 

“ _ Scheisse (Shit),  _ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” The hands retract and my shirt is buttoned back up. I blink a few times, finally realizing the cup of water offered to me.

The water is cool on my tongue. 

Turning salty

Bitter

_ Drowning _

_ Empty  _

I sputter and cough, every heave brings a new wave of suffering. The sheets are wet, the cup is empty on the floor. Arms hold me close.

The walls are covered in tally marks. 

“Lena, I’ve got you.” I can't breathe. A high pitch whine worms its way into my head.  


Shaking

Shuddering

Sobbing

“You are here, Lena.” The walls are clean, decaying; red haze, scent of ozone. Running water, cinnamon and butter. 

I want it to pass, it will pass. I know I am safe, I want to believe it.

Knowing and believing

My hands are shaking, stop it, stop. They grip hard, wrenched bedsheets and livid crescents. The bed dips, a voice next to my ear, soft like a sweater.

 

* * *

 

Angela tells me it takes an hour for it to pass; an hour where she held me and told me about the news that day, the weather outside, the color of the things in the room. 

I tell her what I see; broken vials, torn sheets, bionic limbs strewn about.  

I don’t remember any of it

Looking down, my hands are still, paler than I remember. My right hand is missing two fingers, there’s something tattooed on the inside of my left wrist. 

A blue hourglass and the word “Here”

I blink and it’s gone. 

It all returns to normal, as normal as it gets anyways. 

There are more tests, more prodding, a few calibrations here and there. The commander takes me off the duty roster until both Mercy and Winston give me the green light. 

I fidget in my seat, my heart doing the fluttering thing again.

“I want you to describe what it feels like.” The question is tender, a request not a demand. One word and the session would end.

We don’t have a word for it, well, she does; “disassociation”. It’s too long, sounds like a machine and not a sensation, I like the term “floating”. 

Like in the clouds looking down on everything, experiencing all of it without being  _ there. _

But to put it in words. Where to begin? 

It’s not sudden most of the time. Like a hollowness in the chest, but not empty, just a little...misaligned? Sometimes tight and squeezing, shallow breathes.

From there, to the limbs, sensation of weightless but also heavy. They listen but they are reluctant. The hands are fine except for a slight tingling of the tips like dipped in ice water. 

I eat more, drink more when it happens, my throat numb but blossoms feeling with when I swallow; my stomach never feels full until it feels as if I will burst. Angela frowns when I mention the amount of alcohol I consume just for the sting.

My tongue feels limp and foreign, somehow succeeding at words. My head and spine, a pulling, but not in all directions anymore. Just backwards, into a bed, a couch, the floor; past it, keeps pulling and coaxing me to fall further but never far enough.

It feels wicked if I’m swimming

Eyes stare off. I process but can't comprehend? Words are hard, yeah, don’t quite know if the other truly understands what you’re describing not matter how hard you try. 

I lick my lips, run my fingers through my hair, feel it, sense it. Touch is nice, an anchor. 

It works, I can still function when I’m floating. It just makes it all a bit more interesting. 

It’s not a bad feeling, not terribly nice either. 

For a bit I fought against it. I don’t tell her the medi-gel I stole to hide the cuts, the times I would hold my my breath in the pool for a little too long just to feel the burn. 

To feel something

Time passes, it gets easier. 

There are bad days.

But that’s life

The dreams still get me though, I tell the doctor. Her lips press together, another sheet of paper, the click of a pen.

Most of ‘em are just plain weird, jumping around. I’m in a circus, still a pilot, tracker runner, park ranger, married to a french woman.

Not too mad about the last one. 

I feel my fingers curl in, clenching, crying.

I’m back among the rubble laden wasteland. It all feels wrongly real. 

I know it’s not real

But I  _ believe _ it

I see bodies, blood staining their Overwatch uniforms. In a room, surrounded by monitors streaming chaos in the streets; human cyborgs glowing red. We need to stop them, save them.

She’s quiet, there’s sympathy in her eyes. She wishes she could do more to help, guilty almost. Winston gives me the same look. I tell her it’s alright, that I’m happy, I’m alive. 

She just smiles and nods. A hug, fingers linger, we part.

 

* * *

 

Weeks later, I find myself in Winston’s lab where he has a small obstacle course set up and something white in his enormous hands. Dr. Ziegler is here too, same smile, hair in a low ponytail. 

They are all smiles, excitement in the air. I can’t help but break out into a smile as well.

“Good and bad news,” He starts.

“Well lay on me big guy.” Nervous, I have a sense it’s the question they’ve been avoiding all this time.

“We’ve come to the collective conclusion that it’s too dangerous for you to fly.”

My smile falls, my throat feels tight. 

The anchor in my chest messes with machinery, dials, if it malfunctions, a plane without a pilot would be a danger to people on the ground. I’m livid, hurt, betrayed. It’s petty, I know, but my dream I worked so hard to accomplish. I gave up time, so much of it; with friends and family to fight the good fight.

I knew the risks, but they promised to stand by me. I gave them a chance as much as they did for me. It’s their fault I’m like this, their responsibility to fix it.

A guinea pig and now they’re just going to toss me aside like that..

My teeth clench tight, I want to storm out and scream. Unfair, one mistake, not even mine, and it’s gone.

Something soothing washes over me, a sudden repose. I blink back hot tears, anger replaced by helplessness, replaced by bitter understanding. In a blink, a flurry of emotions.

It’s not their fault, I can’t be mad at them, But I can’t let go of the anger.

_ Redirect it.  _

A voice, an idea, something in my mind. 

_ Mad at the situation, not at the people. _

They look concerned,  always concern; well meaning. Safe, just want to keep me safe, it reassures me. They know more about the situation than I do. I need to trust them.  


My eyes slid closed, a deep breath. “Okay.” a small voice. 

A large hand pulls me into a half hug. He mutters an apology before extending the new piece of glowing tech. 

“Good news is, this little guy can attach to your chronal anchor and, with an extra power source, will let you manipulate your own time-space line through quantum-” 

He sounds so excited, his eyes lighting up as he explains how it works. Most of it flies past my head, but seeing him like this. My chest becomes light, but not in a ‘floating’ way, I may not know what he’s talking about but I get the gist after the fourth mention of “personal teleportation matrix”. 

It’s passion, joy, he truly believes and wants me to like this new discovery. I’ll give it a shot, though bitter about the earlier news. 

For him, for her, for their efforts.

They strap me into it, a larger ring hovers over the cylinder embedded in my chest. With an apology, Angela snips a hole in my shirt so they can lock the two in place. 

It’s one of my favorite shirts but I’m too giddy to care.  


"Take a deep breath." 

Lungs fill. I smile.

"Let's get to it, then."

The moment they slot the two together, I feel the pulling I hadn’t felt in months. Panic rises up, my breathing becomes shallow. I can hear myself yell and scream in alarm.  


Not like this, not again

Take it off, I don’t want to fade away.

They console me, let it happen. i don't want it to.

Fight it, fight it

Stay

I feel like I’m falling but the room doesn’t tilt. Instead it blurs pass my eyes even though I haven’t moved a muscle. A solid surface slams into my gut.  


Bent over a table, halfway across the room. The pulling stops and leaves me dazed and nauseous. 

“Are you alright?” Angela eases me back, lifting my shirt and gently prodding my aching ribs. 

I'm...okay. Nothing has changed, no tally marks, no drowning.

Still in the lab, still here.

Relief and curiosity. 

“Cheery, wish you warned me though.” I mean it to be lighthearted but my wheezing makes it sound sarcastic. A couple more gasps and i try it again. “I’m fine love. Just a hell of a surprise.” 

10 minutes pass before I try it again, pushing past my gut screaming at me. 

I fall, lunge, shoot forward.

It’s empowering, I can control the thing that once made me so scared. Like I’m on top of the world, fingertips tingle but it doesn’t bother me.

I can’t stop smiling, blinking again into the arms of Angela.

“Wicked!” 

Cheerful, zestful, breathless

I wrap my arms around her in full earnest, hearing a surprised squeak in my ear. 

My chest feels like it’s about to burst. It’s the best I’ve felt in a while.

Winston tells me I can’t wear it all the time; battery life and all that jazz. But some practice, more tweaks and I’m cleared again for active missions. Six months after first lifting off in the Slipstream; I’m back into the fight.

Jack starts me off with little jobs, an escort here, recon there, I learn a few tricks using the recall function of the chronal accelerator. It’s fun, exhilarating, each fight something new. 

I start to enjoy myself, feels good to make a difference again.  


 

* * *

 

 

Tensions in the world begin to rise, everyone can feel it. Though the crisis is over, omnics are still trying to find their place in the world trying to rebuild. Aside from a check up every two weeks, I barely see the doctor or the scientist around headquarters. 

One night, I burst into the med-bay, already amped up after seeing this adorable tiny hamster video Lucio had showed me at dinner. I know I’m not the most observant agent, but I can tell when Angela of all people is trying to hide something. She looks up wide-eyed, tossing something into the drawer of her desk.

“Oooooo did I just catch you doing something  _ naughty,  _ Dr. Ziegler?” I love teasing the woman, the way pink floods her face, a hand coming up to cover up the embarrassment.

“Nein, just...just some research is all.” 

“Sure thing, doc.” My grin widens as she hastily turns the screen of her computer off. 

I skip over to her desk. No matter how many times I see her, her face just seems to brighten the world a bit. This woman, out there saving people, bringing hope and compassion.

She puts herself in the line of fire to make sure we get out alive. Admiration, that’s it. Angela Ziegler; team mum. 

Her sleeves are pushed up, hands flawless.  


The way they ruffled through my hair after I showed her a new blink trick. 

“Lena, you are staring.” I snap back, a sheepish lopsided grin. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Right! So,” I proudly present the small paper bag onto her desk. “Filling ya in since you weren't at mess tonight. Reinhardt watched this cooking show vid and demanded Jack let him bake these sweets or it would be ‘prejudice towards his native heritage’ or some shite. Quite a riot it was, flour and sugar everywhere, McCree slipped on a puddle of butter.”

“Is he alright?”

Always worried for our well being. 

“Yeah, his pride bruise is all. One bite of these things and he was fine.” She pulls one of the sticky pastries out, instantly reach for a napkin to place it on. “France-something he called them.”

“Franzbrötchen.” Angela chuckled, taking a bite of the dessert and nodding. “Mein gott, he got it just right this time. The last time he tried making them, he set off the sprinklers and we almost had to evacuate.”

“What?” I choke out between fits of laughter. I imagine Torbjörn drenched, scowling like a wet dog. “Wish I was there to see it.”

It changes, her brows furrow, sets down the sweet. I know she didn’t mean it, I’ve already come to terms with my four month absence. There’s a pang of guilt that resounds in me.

“Hey,” I cup her hand, slightly sticky from the Franz-what’s-it, and press my lips to her knuckles. I don’t quite know what drives me to do so, but the her hushed gasp makes me smile against the skin. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it, love.” I look back at her face, so close. A light dusting of crumbs on her lips. 

It's happening fast, time slows, I pause and force myself to stay still. 

_ Don't lean in _

I know, we’re colleagues, doctor and patient, military. I want to, so badly. Time is short.

_ You shouldn’t _

Watch me

Her eyes a vibrant blue, wide, sliding closed. Heart ramming against the walls of my ribs. Our lips brush for the smallest of moment. Chaste, enough to set fire to my nerves as if my entire body is vibrating. 

It's nice, sweet. 

“I, uh, Jack says we get leave tomorrow. You fancy joining me for a drink in town?” 

The silence ticks by like molasses, she holds my gaze for moment. Unreadable, I bite my lip.

Of course not, overstepped.

“Sorry, sorry. Don't think anything of it, you’ve just been cooped up in your lab the last few week, thought maybe-”  

Stupid 

stupid stupid

“Lena.” Fingers intertwine with mine. I’m a sap, don’t care if they’re a tad tacky. “I’d love to.”

My face splits, gosh I could kiss her again.

“Right! Uh, meet you at the mess tomorrow at 20:00?” 

Can't stop smiling.

“I look forward to it.” 

I give in, a quick peck on the cheek before I retreat to the door. Angela is smiling, I’m smiling. And I almost trip on my own two feet. 

“Glad you like the sweet!” 

Her face becomes mischievous. “Not as sweet as you.” 

“Oh, stop it.” My feet shuffle on the ground, my face feels hot. Heart feels too warm to be in my chest. I don’t want it to end. 

“Good night,  _ Hase( _ Bunny)” I don’t know what it means, but the way she says it. I do hope it’s some term of endearment. 

“Back at you, love.” Another smile and I practically bound my way down the hallway. 

Floating on air, high up. Sure it’s not the most romantic thing in the world, but a couple drinks, a few laughs, sure it’ll be great. 

This is gonna be grand. 

The halls are empty save for the usual faces heading to the gym for a post dinner workout. 

As I turn down into my corridor, I hear shouting, the voices of Jack and Gabriel barely contained by the walls of a room. 

“You’re paranoid, always have been. She’s just doing her job, unlike you.” 

“There’s something bigger going on, Morrison. We just lost a good man, but this evidence-”

“Evidence that you obtained through  _ less than commendable  _ ways.”

I freeze, ducking into my quarters a few doors down from Gabriel’s. No one else is in this hall, Winston had taken them to Gibraltar to meet with a dignitary.  

“You cannot deny it, it’s unsanctioned. We need to look into-”

“Our attention can’t be divided. you're angry, I get it, use it and direct it to the real enemy.” 

“Jack-”

“We’re done here, Reyes. You’ve wasted enough of my time with your conspiracy bullshit. You’re a soldier, stop this fucking investigation of yours and start acting like one. That’s an order.”

There’s a pause, footsteps. I dart into my room and shut the door, pressing my ear against it. He can’t see me but I hold my breath nonetheless.

They were friends, inseparable when I joined. What happened?

The earlier cheer gone now.

He passes, it’s quiet again. 

_ You should investigate _

Call me nosy, but I was planning to anyways. Knowing that Gabriel Reyes is a man of few words, I rummage through my dresser, snatching the box hidden underneath my smallclothes; bright blue with cartoony white letters.

Adrenaline still in my veins, I peek out. Left, right, coast is clear. 

I lightly knock on the door. No answer.

“Gabriel, it’s me.” 

There’s shuffling past the door, something sliding shut before the door cracks open.

“What do you want.” He answers in his usual annoyed tone, though he seems a little worse for wear today. There are bags under his eyes, papers strewn around his normally tidy quarters.

“You alright love?” He stares for a moment, either taken back by the question or considering closing the door on my face. 

“Tired.” He says

“Mind if I come in? I heard what happened.” No answer, I pull out my trump card. “I brought your favorite; rice krispies.” 

There’s the reaction I want. Gabriel’s lip twitches up. Grunting, he snatches the box and holds the door open for me. Jack has us on strict diet plans, being able to to blink around and talk my way out of just about everything makes sneaking in ‘unapproved rations’ a breeze. 

I hear the hasty tearing of plastic following crunching as I glance as the messy documents. There’s a stack of file with the stamp of ‘confidential’ on the front. 

“Doing some research?” 

He grunts in affirmation, already working on his second treat. 

“So, what was that all about?” 

He sighs, tossing the wrapper into the waste bin. Hands rifle through a stack of paper before pulling one with a a few photos clipped to it and passing it to me.

I don’t recognize the face, Overwatch is pretty big after all, it’d be hard to keep track of all the agents we have. It’s a man, clean cut with his hair slicked back. The next is a woman, long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. My fingers tighten around the last photo, a crime scene, a bedroom, the man’s dead body and a pool of blood. 

“Gérard Lacroix, one of our operatives in France. Talon kidnapped his wife Amélie, turned her against us. We didn't realize this until she killed him in his sleep. We think she’s working with them now.”

It’s bitter information but nothing new, Talon was the main terrorist group Overwatch had been battling ever since the Omnic Crisis ended. No motive, no negotiations, their sole purpose seemed to be destroying research, shooting babies, and general nastiness. 

“Not to sound daft, but what’s special about him?” 

Gabriel scowls. He walks over to the computer and opens something.

“Nothing on the surface, we knew Talon wanted him dead. truthfully, I am impressed by the lengths they went to in order to kill him. But it was this vid I pulled from his data chip that prompted me to look deeper.”

The screen flashes, showing footage from what looks like a camera mounted onto goggles. It’s pointed to a bin with a mouse frantically scurrying about, trying to escape. 

_ “Subject 375, biotic resurrection test run 84.”  _

It’s a male voice. A lid is latch to the top of the bin, a hose running from the clear plastic to two canisters. The angle tilts harshly, he looks to the side where there’s a woman standing next to him with a pad in her hands.

“Dr. Ziegler.” I breath out. Gabriel just nods.

_ “Administering sulfur mustard.”  _

A yellow-brown haze filled the space. My mouth goes dry as I watched the mouse’s actions become more panicked. Sores quickly formed on its body; angry and oozing. It slowed, gasping, collapsing to the floor. 

Disbelief, Angela wouldn’t do this, she wouldn’t stand for this. It’s not real, no, tampered? It can’t be. 

_ “Subject is confirm deceased, beginning 5 minute timer.” _

It drags on, the camera just showing its lifeless body, leaving my stomach churning. 

I glance over the Reyes, his gaze stony. 

“Keep watching.” He orders, I comply, not wanting to but-

_ “Administering biotic field.”  _

The bin fills with a bright yellow light. My breath refuses to come out. Nothing happens at first, I almost think the test had failed. A minute passes. 

It starts with a twitch, whoever is wearing the camera pulls back before pressing his face up to the side of the bin. 

The legs jerk sporadically. A small squeak sounds, its mouth gulping in air. The fur grows back, the sores disappears, in another minute, the mouse is back on it’s feet and begins to groom itself as if it hadn’t just been dead for five minutes. 

_ “Success...Biotic resurrection test 84 on Subject 375 is a success.”  _ He can barely contain his excitement. The video tilts back up, Angela’s face filling the screen. It’s undeniable that’s her, her smile, twinkling eyes. 

_ “This...Can you imagine how many people we can help with this? Scheisse, this is it.”  _

The footage cuts out. I’m dumbfounded, a breakthrough like that would’ve made headlines, why hadn’t any of us known of this? 

“When-”

“Two weeks ago, when he was assassinated, I received a tip that he had a secret data chip in his locker here. Jack denies it all. He's blind and doesn't want admit something bad is going on. And it doesn't stop there” He pulls up another video.

It’s a cube with the number ‘375’ on the side. The mouse inside looks terrible should be dead, it’s face is caved in, teeth exposed and oozing pus. It keeps twitching, head swinging from side to side. Hands pick up the container and angles it up. 

I don’t believe my eyes. Instead of sliding on the smooth plastic floor, the animal  _ dissipates _ into a cloud of dark brown mist and swirls around before reforming into its vague mouse shape at the bottom corner. 

The person in the video then violently shakes the bin. I can hear the body slam against the sides a few times before there is once again no mouse, just the same haze in the bin. It’s then I notice there isn’t any air holes or openings; fully sealed in its plastic prison. The video ends.

“Yesterday. The doctor is brilliant but what she is working on.”

“Could help a lot of people.” I try to stay optimistic. Some of the best accomplishment had terrible beginnings. But the fact that no one else knows that she’s doing this research, these experiments.

My skin crawls. 

“No, life must have an end. Death is peace.” He growls. 

My head reels, there’s a pulling, urgent and harsh. “Reyes.” I gasp in a mouthful of hot, dusty air. 

But I don’t cough, I don’t even try to draw in another breath. Everything is brown, my arms extend and there is a slight grinding in my elbows. 

It’s not panic that rises, there is not throat to constrict, no blood to pound. I stumble back, a hand catches me.

_ “Oxton, great work out there, we save a lot of innocent people.”  _

It’s Gérard, his eyes glowing like lights. He smiles and eases me down to sit on a crate. 

It all morphs into focus, soldiers seating around the room with us, dusty Overwatch uniforms. All their eyes glowing. There’s a cup knocked over with a shiny spoon in it. Hesitant, I bring it up to my face.

My hands shake, no my hands, robotic and metal. My face resembling mine, angular and painted as if the fake freckles are to comfort me. My eyes glow. 

“ _ Tracer _ ” A distant voice, the tent flap is lifted. Her smile

“Tracer.” Hands shake me, I feel tears on my face. I’m on the floor, back leaned up against his bed. Reyes keeps shaking me, caling out my name.

“I’m here, I’m here.” I say, he stops his movements. It’s strange to see him concerned.

“You saw something, what was it?” My lungs try to catch up. For a moment, I curse Jack for announcing my condition to the entire base at a morning briefing. 

I tell him, I owe him that much, he listens. He doesn’t even try to comfort me, not that I blame him. 

“These visions, nightmares, alternate realities. I’m sorry.” He acknowledges that they’re more than just dreams, I never would’ve pegged him as a believer of the supernatural. 

His heavy hand pats me on the back, helping me get to my feet and leading me to the door. “Get some rest, we’ll talk another time.”

I don’t argue, my mind still swimming at the implication of the new information and the snap back to reality. My feet are numb but I still muster up a small smile.

“Thanks, You...You take care of yourself, yeah.” It’s awkward, yes, but he’s a good man, we’re all just trying to do what we think is right. 

The man regards me for a bit, tired eyes soften just a hair. He nods. 

“As to you. Watch your back around her.” 

He shuts the door behind me.  

Buzzing, all of it. Trying to come to terms that Angela might be doing something highly illegal, dangerous. And the visions always reoccurring, same theme of-

I force myself to stop thinking about it all, pulling the covers over my head.

Dr. Ziegler would never do that.

Would she? 

My sleep is dreamless.


	5. Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about me! Yeah, I have a similar tattoo on my left wrist; red infinity sign an a 'here'. Call me sappy, I think i looks cool. As I said before, Tracer/Mercy dynamic is loosely based off of personal experience. I guess I just like writing about myself. BUT THE PLOT THICKENS.

“What up Trace, what’s the cheeky grin for?” 

I blink out of my trance, pulling my gaze from her to Lucio who seats himself across the table from me. He glances at where I was staring just a few moments ago and then back at me with his own face-splitting grin. I groan, my cheeks begin to heat up.

“Ayyyyyy, Trace my man got a lil’ crush.” 

“Ain’t none of your business, mate!” I shush him, checking to see if Angela had noticed the comment.

She covers her mouth with a hand, laughing at some joke Reinhardt had made. Her hair sweeps to the side, shoulders shake with every breath.

Must’ve been a good joke. 

“I’m your best bud, course it’s my business,” Lucio picks up his breakfast sandwich and takes a bite. “So you and the doc huh. Isn’t that like, a violation of something.” 

One could say the forbidden fruit is always the sweetest. Angela’s sweet enough by herself; all smiles and giggles and-

Ugh I’m such a sap. 

“Nothing yet, we got leave today so we’re grabbing a couple drinks at the Iron Pub in town.” 

“Hey hey, I’ll see you there then!”

I pale slightly. Actually, it would be fun, but a date with your bestfriend in the same room? I raise an eyebrow, silently asking him to give a little context. Lucio grins with bits of egg stuck in his teeth.

“Been there a couple times, they know me. Long story short, you’re looking at tonight sweet sweet DJ.” I chuckle as he sets his food down to thump his chest proudly. “It’d be nice to let loose a bit and just  _ dance.” _

I can’t argue with him, looking back, the base had been a little tense. Talon was becoming a bigger threat with their sabotages. And the news of Gerard’s assassination breaking…

I think back to my conversation with Reye’s last night and scan the room for him. His usual spot near the back is empty. I can’t seem to find the commander either.

Lucio starts off about his lineup for the night; wicked songs really, I love all of them. There’s a few new ones in there, he promises to dedicate one for us. I punch him in the shoulder and call him a wanker. 

I lean back and the room feels like it pulls away just a bit. The noise mutes like I’m underwater, my head feels a bit light. 

It’s strange, I feel like I’m in the middle of it all. Like a storm about to happen, hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if some shitstorm were to happen. This morning, I merely pick at my food, half listening to Lucio about his last adventures at the pub. 

The food tastes bland. I can’t help it sometimes, even if all is looking up and good friends are around me. A soft sigh, I just want to sit somewhere high and watch the world below. 

_ Lucio’s here, everyone’s here for you. You’re here. _

_ Chin up _

It’ll pass

His enthusiasm tapers down, taking notice. I wave off Lucio’s concern, he teases me some more before trying to shift the conversation to the new ‘Berry Bomb Go-Bars’ we had in the kitchen. 

“More like ‘Barf Bomb’, seriously, don’t eat ‘em.” 

“You think Overwatch will ever end?” He jerks up from his food, brows furrowed. 

Honestly, I don’t even know why I asked such a question. Must be the chronal thing messing with my head.

I bet he’s used to it by now, been friends since I signed up for Overwatch in my pre-Slipstream days. Youngest blokes on base; course we’d find ways to cause trouble together. His eyes sparkle with a mixture of understanding and mirth. 

A laugh when I’m running dry. 

“I dunno, hope not. We make sure the people are free, you know. Remember what we always say; we do good work, fight the good fight.” His eyes narrows and falls quiet, the mess hall continues to chatter away. 

There’s a ringing in my ear, in my head, I feel the world tilting. My hand shoots out in an effort to stabilize my spinning vision. A strong grip holds onto mine, another arm around my shoulders, lean back, breathe. 

I can feel the eyes of the people around us watching.

“You good?” He is close. Like a lifeline I clutch onto his voice, focus on the contact as he holds me like all the times before. “Maybe we should talk to the doc.” 

She doesn’t know that my condition wasn’t caused by the accident.

Just worsened. 

Shame piles up at the back of my throat. 

It’ll pass

“No, I’m fine. My brain's just rubbish this morning, stayed up late…” I trail off, it’s a lie he let’s parade around as truth. 

“Yeah, up all night thinking of her right.” It’s supposed to come as joke but his worry seeps through.

“I’ve been taking my meds.” 

I whisper the answer to his next question. 

He takes a seat next to me, asks me what I did this morning, not letting go of my hand. 

Got up, brushed my teeth, ‘yes with the same spearmint toothpaste I know you hate’. Took my medication, snacked on half a go-bar, did a lap around the base, watched the sun rise. 

With everything I list off, the floating ebbs away. 

Showered, got dressed, mess hall, breakfast sandwich, two scoops of fruit, a thing of juice.

I look up and catch Angela watching us from across the room. My mouth goes dry. 

Don’t want her to worry, she’s got enough on her mind. 

Lucio picks up on my sudden silence, he brings my focus back to him, back to what’s in front of me. 

“Don’t worry about it, Trace, I’m here for you, we’re all here for you.” 

The shame doesn’t budge, a burden even though they tell me I’m not. A broken person, No hero, lost. Just lost. I want to burrow away and just disappear. Maybe I shouldn’t have fought it, let myself drift away. 

I’m spiraling down, I know it, I know that I need to keep fighting. It begins with me.

But I’m powerless to stop it.  

What did they bring back, all their effort and work for a shell of a woman who can’t even make it through breakfast-

“Look at me,” He lifts my face. Reluctantly, I meet his gaze. 

Eyes full of fire, of fight; fighting what, for who?

_ For you _

“You are an amazing person, Lena. You don’t let anything get you down. Yeah sometimes there’s hiccups and there’s nothin’ wrong with that, but you’re a fighter.”

I know it...He makes me believe it. 

“Chin up, man. You are Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton, here, doing good work.” 

“Fighting the good fight.” I finish with a small smile. 

“That’s right, man.”

It brings the memory of our first encounter, him fresh from Brazil after taking on one of the biggest corporations in the world. Me, still high in the clouds from just passing Overwatch’s pilot screening. Both of us on top of the world, ready to make a difference. 

It’s rare that he uses my real name, it’s usually nicknames and jokes that dance off his lips. A tingling crosses my chest, he cares. 

It passes

A breath of fresh air.

Here

I’m still here.

And I deserve to be here.

“Thanks love.” 

He nods, a fist bump.  _ ‘I got your back’.  _ He stays seated next to me, pulling over his tray of food. 

We finish the rest of the breakfast with gossip and whose pair of taco boxers Lucio had found in the showers that morning.

I tell him I saw them in Reye’s room last night. He hollers ‘I knew it!’ and then asks me exactly what I was doing in Reye’s room at night.

“Not Reyes.”

A roar of laughter, a high five. 

It feels good.

 

* * *

We split off into our sections and head to morning briefings except Morrison isn’t the one that gives it, it’s Reinhardt. He passes official news of Gerard’s death, that we lost a good man but we need to hold fast against Talon. 

But he only says that Amelie’s missing, captured, that we’re doing everything we can to bring back one of our best snipers. 

He also announces that there’s still of Frankie-bits in the fridges of some of the kitchens and a picture of Jack in a pastel yellow apron on the news board.  

I high five him for that. 

I’m edgy as the day goes on. Not edgy like Reyes is on his off days, but, I guess jumpy. I can’t tell whether I want to run into Angela or if I’m trying to avoid her at all costs. Everytime I see a head of blond hair, my heart skips a beat. Alas, nothing, random soldiers, a few conversations here and there.

Come to think of it, I don’t see Reyes or Morrison either. Probably some big hat stuff going down.

I’m hopping around the base under the afternoon sun, trying new tricks when my communicator chip buzzes, Lucio’s name popping up. I answer as I try to blink across two rooftops. 

“Cheers mate, what’s uuuuaaaa!” A quick pull and I stop myself from falling face first into the dirt below.

“Haha, back at it again? Man, you know that gap is gonna need four blinks.” 

I blow him a raspberry. “Just watch me, I almost had it.”

and try it one more time.

Pull

1

Pull

2

I’m so close when I try to blink but the accelerator blares out a warning. My stomach drops, the charges out, not enough power for a recall. Lucio shouts over the comm, realizing the same thing.

It’s a one story building but still quite a drop. Dread builds, I whip around frantically. Something, anything to break my fall.

Below me there are footsteps, a figure with a long blue coat stepping out of the door.

“Incoming!!” 

A warning, a request perhaps. If they can’t catch me, at least they could save themselves from a falling 22 year old.

Well, still 21 going be the genetic dating Angela had run.

The pit in my stomach grows when I fall close enough to make out the person’s face. She looks up, a blue beret on top her long grey hair. A tattoo under her left eye. 

Second in command, Captain Amari

_ Fuck _

With surprising grace and strength, I feel myself fall into her arms and caught like a giant rugby ball. She spins to ease the momentum down and I look up at her quizzical face. 

“My,” I hear right eye whizzing, watching as it focuses in on me. “You were the girl in the fishbowl, Oxton wasn’t it?”

A sheepish smile spreads across my lips, both embarrassed at the situation and somewhat honored that she recognized me. I bring up a hand to the best salute I could manage while cradled in her arms. 

“Yes ma’am, Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton, uh, dropping in?” She throws her head back with a laugh and finally sets me down onto my feet. 

I glance at my communicator, noticing that Lucio had shut off the video feed but was still listening in. She rests her hands onto the strap of the rifle on her back.

“Ah, Dr. Zeigler mentioned you, told me to not be alarmed if a flash of blue light darted by.” 

My heart swells some more, I struggle for words, falling back onto instinct; which consisted of cheeky smirks and a sharp increase of British slang.

“Yep, bloke’s me. I, uh, real gobsmacked to meet you like this. Thought might be somewhere nicer, maybe in uniform and not track shorts and a tee.” I rub the back of my neck, trying to keep my nervousness in check. “Aw, rubbish.”

There’s another chuckle and a hand ruffling my hair. 

“Don’t fret,” She smiles. Tosh, she was nothing like Jack and the stories made her out to be, she’s like a grandma. “She told me you rambled too.”

My lips automatically curve into a pout, earning another snicker. 

“Just teasing, carry on Tracer.” 

I straighten up and give her a proper salute this time. The captain returns it and turns to carry on her walk to whatever her destination was. A minute passes until she is out of earshot and the comm explodes back to life with a shout. 

“Oooooo Trace the ace, my room stat!” 

He grins across the connection. I dust myself off and begin heading towards the barracks.

“Ey, and grab me one of them sweet things grandpa made will ya.” 

“You got it.” 

“Sweeet, see you in a bit.”

 

* * *

With pastry in hand, I pause to glance at the tele a few of the soldiers were watching. Some reporter seated at a small desk and a stack of papers. It’s one of the smaller, local channels by the looks of it.

“-failing us? Are they really protecting us, or just adding fuel to the fire.”

“Man, this is bull. One fuck up and the world is on our asses.” 

“If they don’t like us, we should just let them rot then.”

I frown. The reporter’s tone is unforgiving and sharp, as if we had personally failed him. But these soldiers, humans, we all make mistakes.

My fingers ghost over the accelerator strapped to my chest under my shirt.

“Chin up, loves.” The three of them look at me, seemingly startled at my presence. Again, I don’t recognize any of them. 

Maybe I’m just piss at names

“Jobs hard yeah, but we’re doing good work, fighting the good fight.” It’s a motto now I guess, it makes me feel better, maybe it’ll help these soldiers too.

“Yeah, must be hard cause no one’s thanking us. Want us to help, but don’t like it when we do. Ungrateful bastards.”

I falter, eyes on the ground, like a blow to the gut. No, it’s not my job to raise everyone’s morale. Lucio’s told me this before and i’ve told him the same thing. Sometimes, you just gotta let sadness and anger run its course. 

The soldiers go back to watching the screen, now changed to some game show. It’s a distraction but when one of the contestants fail to land on the platform and skid off into the frothy water, they break out in laughter.  

I shake my head and find the hall to Lucio’s room.

“Trace, man do I have news for you!”

He slaps me on the back and ushers me in, the speakers in his room already blasting music. It doesn’t look much different from the first time I had visited; a couple of concert posters, a flashing stereo, a board filled of pictures from home; Family, friends, fans, strangers, and everyone in between. 

The music is turned down a bit so he doesn’t have to shout. I sit back on his bed, handing over the sweet which he takes a massive bite out of. 

“Alright, first off, what happened when I buzzed you was dope. Like, the universe aligned for you to fall into the arms Captain  _ fucking _ Amari.” 

I thank, well, don’t know exactly who I should thank; or maybe I should curse them. Guess someone’s up there really likes me. That, or someone down there really don’t want me. 

“Second, commander’s mad, like balls to the walls mad.” Lucio paces the room a bit. “He was all shoutin’ about shipping out half of the base to the other watch-points.”

That catches my attention, the Swiss base itself is big; like some 70,000 big. And he plans to move 35,000 soldiers on short notice. Where? Why?

“That’s loony.” I say in disbelief, it’s not possible. Unless he’s desperate or something or... 

What if we’re all getting shipped out, to different posts; new faces new friend. 

Exciting and daunting

The bed sinks next to me. 

“Exactly! Captain Amari just returned from France, bet she had bad news. I saw her, Jack and Reyes go into the debrief and next thing, bam! Door slams open, Reyes was shoutin’, everyone was shoutin’” Lucio says, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“She seemed pretty calm when I, uh, fell on her.” 

He pauses, leans back on his hands and stares off for a bit.

“Man, I don’t know. Guess when you get to be that old and that high up, you learn how to hide it.” 

Yeah, like Angela. 

I bite back the remark, a statement that would’ve opened a whole other can of worms. It’s all changing so fast, like months of build up to this.

The excitement dies down, the information and reality setting in.

There’s a question that both of us avoid.

“It’s just talk....” I say quietly.

“Yeah…” Lucio flops down onto the bed. The music sets a steady beat. 

It was only a matter of time before we would be stationed at different watch-points. I should’ve saw it coming, they might’ve coddled me right after the accident but now that I’m better, that the world is changing. 

‘My little adventurer’ Mum would always say. 

‘Always eager for something new and dangerous’ 

She’s somewhere out there, flying the plane that I learned in. 

Teaching another youngster the joy of the sky.

I look down at my wrist, suddenly feeling like it’s empty.

“Let’s get ink’d!” something pushes the words from my throat, it takes both of us by surprise. Recovering quickly I turn to Lucio with a big grin. 

His eyebrows raise before he smiles back. 

“That’s a crazy idea.” For a moment, I think he might say no. “Let’s do it!”

A laugh ripples out of me. He pulls me up off the mattress and shoves me out the door. I hear the music shut off automatically and we race down the hall. 

“There’s a place a down the street of the pub.” I get a wicked idea the moment we step outside. Lightly tapping him on the shoulder, I break into a sprint. “Race ya!”

“Oh, you are on!”

The buildings blur away, the people, the world. I focus on my steps, on leaping over railings and weaving through faceless figures. My heart pounds, I let out a shout as I land a vault and springing back onto my feet.

Behind me, I hear Lucio hot on my heels, laughing with me.

Not a care in the world.

Free

A distraction

I let it sink in, just for the moment, to forget the news and the possibility that we’ll be separated soon. The possibility of either of us being hurt,

Of one of us dying

It’s just a thought.

I swallow thickly, just a thought; the pounding in my chest is because of the adrenaline, the fear in my stomach from nearly tripping over a railing.

Missions are different, we know that we’re coming back to base at some point after it’s all said and done and the world is safe again. That when it boils down to it; I have my harness to save me and he has his music. That we can’t die, because ‘heroes never die’.

Mercy would never let us. 

Angela would never let us.

I skid to a halt at the front of the parlor, it’s neon ‘open’ sign flashing in the late afternoon glow. Lucio stops and lean up against the wall, only a few steps late. We’re both out of breath, smiling.

After a few moments outside so we could actually speak properly, we push the door open. The shop’s well lit, the walls covered with framed artwork of tattoo designs and pictures of past achievements. It’s empty, figures, it is a Wednesday afterall. 

“What can I-” A male voice calls out, someone stepping out from the swinging doors leading to the back. He stands a bit straighter, his face breaking out into a grin of disbelief. “Is that the Lucio Correia dos Santos in my shop?”

He looks nervous at first, I thought the shopkeeper had realized we were part of Overwatch and was about to kick us out. After a second, Lucio extends a fist-bump to the man.

“In the flesh, my man.” He is immediately pulled into a hug, the tattoo artist shedding a few tears.

“I have family and friends back in Rio De Janeiro when you pushed those damned Vishkar back. I never thought I would be able to ever meet you. Thank you, thank you.”

I watch as they fall into Portuguese. I catch a few words here and there; ‘mother’, ‘thank you’, ‘hope’. It warms my heart, to think that there are hundreds, thousands of people who we’ve help in our efforts; personal and through Overwatch. And then there are those who we’ve hurt, it makes me want to find that reporter, ask him what happened, how we could help to fix it.

For now, I browse through the portfolio holo laid out. It’s a small store, seems like only two artist keep it running. I want something cute, maybe a frog to remind me of Lucio if/when we get separated. But my eyes keep falling back to my left wrist. 

A blue hourglass and the word “Here”

Do I need to get it? Was my vision my future that I need to recreate it lest the world will fall apart. 

_ Here _

It comforts me. Wherever I’ll be, I’ll be  _ here. _

But what about my two missing fingers, when will that happen? Can I prevent it, what if getting this tattoo leads to me getting my fingers lopped off.

I squeeze my eyes shut, stop it, stop thinking too much.

“Tracer.” A hand gentle turns me back around to the man. It seems as though they had moved to introductions.

“Victor” he beams and shakes my hand. I bury my worries and smile back. “Did you want to keep looking or did you have something in mind?” 

Lucio and I exchange glances, he shrugs slightly.

“I‘ve got somthin’ in mind.”

_ Left wrist.  _

_ A blue hourglass and the word “Here” _

 

* * *

It takes a bit longer than I expected, probably because we stop to record Lucio’s freestyle ‘tomatoes with tattoos’. The man’s a wizard, pumping out rhyme after rhyme while I’m still wondering how the hell the conversation turned to tomatoes with tattoos.

The sun’s already dimming outside when we bid our farewells, snap the last few pictures, and walk towards the pub with medi-gel and plastic wrap covering our wrists.

A blue hourglass and the word “Here”

A green set of headphones and the word “Here”

Lucio didn’t question my design idea, he seemed to understand the moment I proposed it. We chat about a few little things, how much it surprisingly hurt, how it was crazy to run into another Brazilian in the middle of Switzerland. 

“You hyped for a night of dancing and fun?” He asks, the brick face of the bar coming up in the distance. 

There are butterflies in my stomach. I had buzzed Angela to meet me there instead due to our impromptu tattoo run. She was surprised at our little adventure, said she’ll be a bit late cause she was finishing up a research report. 

I hope she doesn’t catch my nervous chuckle. 

As we near the entrance, I feel my hands fidget and a lump form at the back of my throat. 

Should I tell him? He thinks I’m just nervous for the date. 

What good would it bring if I do tell him. 

Speculation, it’s all speculation with a healthy dose of evidence. When maybe she has her reasons, I could ask her tonight.

What if she tries to do something, what if I disappear and become a test subject. What if she cuts me apart, feed me to those blasted rats. 

“Trace, you’re sweating sheets, you that nervous for your date?” 

I’m shivering. 

_ Tell him. Tell him. _

I shake my head.

I lie

“It’s all good, mate. Get a couple drinks in me and I’ll the smoothest gal in there.” 

Something snaps within me, like a wave of disappointment. I brush it off.

“Hah! Please, we both know that you’re a lightweight. Two beers and you’ll be on the table singing ‘God save the Queen’.”

It’ll pass

The bouncer waves us through, doing some kind of handshake with Lucio. The place is dimly lit with a light bass going; a strange cross between a nightclub and normal bar. The owner is quick to spot Lucio and steal him away. 

“Good luck, man.”

“Back at you.” 

I slid onto a high stool and order a coke and rum. The crowd is huge, gathering around the stage where Lucio is given a few minutes to set up. I call for a pint and bring it over to him. He takes it and offers a toast.

“To a great night.”

I hope.

“To a great night!”

I lean against the stage, ignoring the slight tackiness of the wood, and sway to the beat that fades through the speakers.

“How we doing tonight Zürich!” The rapidly growing crowd cheers in response. A sea of young and old, some donning Brazil regalia.

“Alright alright,” The beat picks up, bass sending tremors up my arms. “Lucio Comin’ at you!”

Energy arcs through the air, bodies move, shouting, dancing. It’s all alive, people losing themselves to the music. Chest feels light, flying high with the sound.

The coke feels funny on my tongue.

- _ would explain why I taste pop right now. _

There’s a girl on the dance floor; fiery red hair that flutters with every bounce. A white spaghetti tank hugs her chest, a strip of skin visible between it and her black skirt. I glance down, realizing I’m still in the same tee and track shorts.

Classy, real classy

I look back and she’s looking at me, smiling and swinging her hips. My eyes dart from the movement to her brown eyes. I glance around me, maybe she’s not looking at me but someone else. I’m alone next to the stage, of course, technically it’s an off limits area. 

Looking back, her gaze is still on me.

It might be the one drink I’ve had, but I do the most ameteur thing ever; lock eyes and point to myself. 

She tilts her head back and lets out a laugh that gets lost in the music. Sparkling eyes, finger curling, she nods yes. 

_ Dance with her _

Like a trance, I set my empty glass on one of the tables and onto the dance floor. 

Something takes hold, seeping into my bones. Relax, it pulls me forward. 

Pulse beat beat beating

Heaving

Hot

Heavy

Nameless, the girl’s hands find mine, soft and playful. The tempo tapers down, deep and heady with bass, she moves slower and with purpose. 

Fingertips ghost up my arms, one finds the small of my back and pulls my waist in flush against hers. I shut my eyes, my mind’s ability for coherent thought ruined by the friction of pulsating bodies and thin clothes. She smells like cinnamon rolls, spicy and sweet; like a memory in the distance.

I take a deep breath, smile and she smiles back. Eyes so bright.

Hot breath tickles my ear, washing over my neck. At some point, my shirt is hiked up, a bare hand trailing up my side. 

I groan into her neck, her nameless neck when her finger press harder. Electricity. 

They move up, pause and then all contact is gone. As if burned by fire as brilliant as her hair, she pulls back, a look of disgust. 

What? 

I look down, through a clouded mind I put the pieces together. I’m still wearing my harness under my shirt; a dead giveaway to who I am.

“Overwatch.” Her voice cuts through the air, loathing, revolting, hateful.

Helpless, I want to explain but how? Ask her why she hates us? Is it really the time to change her mind. 

She looks so hurt.

So angry.

I don’t even know her name.

But she knows my entire story. 

With a sharp turn, I am left alone in the middle of a undulating ocean, heart heavy, hoping that Lucio didn’t see what just happened. My eyes sting, it’s not my fault, it’s not her fault.

_ Mad at the situation _

I grit my teeth and push my way back to the bar. Two shots of tequila, 30 minutes later, the barkeep shoots me a look and offers to make me a ‘careless whisper’. 

“Why the hell not.” 

I hear it set in front of me, my eyes captivated by the colorful bottles behind the bar. My hand gropes at empty space.

“You come here often?” The cheesy line is said by the voice I’ve been wanting to hear.

I turn, noticing the edges of my vision already blurring. But in front of me is an angel, my swiss angel with my drink at her lips.

“Give me a reason to, love.” I give her a cheeky grin and rest an arm on the bar. 

Her eyebrows raise, her lips curling around the glass.

“Verdammt (Damn), that was smooth.” 

Unashamed, I drag my eyes up her figure; it’s rare to see her out of normal duty ware. A flattering red cocktail dress I’ve never seen her wear, paired with a set of cute heels. I again realise my own attire. 

“I, uh, yeah. You look stunning.” My face heats up, losing whatever composure I had just mustered up. I mutter for a cup of water which is quickly slid over to me. 

I watch her eye me as well with a smirk on her painted lips; her gaze lingering on my bare legs. She hums, making me shift in my seat.   


“As do you, hase(Bunny).” 

There’s that word again. I’m about to ask her what it means when her hand pulls my wrist over, taking care around the tender side. 

I freeze, anxious for her thoughts on the tattoo. 

Ever so gently, her fingers smooth over the plastic to get a better look, her eyes thoughtful. Finally, she looks up and whispers.

“It looks nice, I’m sure it holds meaning for you.” 

An invitation to give context.

If it was just yesterday, I would’ve jumped to tell her the entire story and then some. But now, I hesitate.

“For all that’s going on and will go on, it’s sorta a reminder…” 

“That you are here.” 

I take her hand and squeeze, she laces her fingers with mine. It still feels nice, a shot of warmth that makes me dizzy in the head and weak in the knees. Good thing I’m already sitting. 

She orders a few more drinks for us, I have no idea what they are cause she starts speaking gibberish (Swiss German) with the barkeep. He spares me another glance and pours me some sort of layered shot, repeating it for Angela. I pick mine up.

“To the most brilliant and beautiful woman I know.” It comes slightly slurred. 

I...am definitely buzzed.

“To life.” She says.

“Bollocks, I’ll drink to that too.” I click my shot glass with hers, “To life!”

It’s sweet and creamy. I think I ask her what it’s called cause in a moment she says ‘Angel Dew’. 

I scoff but am amused nonetheless. It’s a fitting drink.

I order six more.

Somewhere along the way, I tell her about the encounter we had at the tattoo parlor, her face lights up when I tell her how moved Victor was. We drink to making a difference.

We’re all just trying to do what we think is right. 

The conversation muddles together, I am  _ positively  _ drunk while Angela seems to only be slightly tipsy. I slow down after the third shot, thankfully only choking on water and not alcohol when she recounts the tale of walking in on Ana and Jack once years back. 

“He looked me dead in the eye and said ‘You didn’t see anything, you didn’t hear anything, and you sure as hell ain’t saying anything to anyone.’” She did a spot on impression of the commander, complete with the squinty eyes and finger jabbing. 

I nearly fall off the stool laughing.

“Eyy, this next one’s for my good friend and the always lovely doc at the bar.” I jerk up and look over to the stage where Lucio is grinning like a madman, mic to his mouth. All the heads turn to us. “Now get off your butts and move it people!” 

In a blink, I grab Angela by the hand and pull her to the dance floor. It doesn’t take much really, she coming willingly and instantly puts a hand on my hip.  

The music stays upbeat but less techno-y. We share a laugh, everyone around us simply letting go and shaking. We dance, I can’t find the rhythm but I’m too gone to care. 

She raises my arm up and twirls me around. 

Around and around

Arm supporting, dips me down, face to face. 

My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, the back of head tingles, my heart on fire but all is good. Everything is good as I get lost in her blue eyes full of life and happiness.

I rise up, her flushed lips just centimeters away. 

But then she pulls back.

My breath hitches, had I done something wrong? Did I read this wrong. How drunk am I?

It stings a whole lot more this time.

She avoids my gaze, her face falling. I struggle to keep my composure, my mind swims in alcohol and the burn of rejection. I lean in close so we can hear each other over the music.

“Did...Did I do something wrong, love?” 

My heart is breaking, there must be a reason, there’s always something. I hold onto hope, maybe I stink of alcohol, maybe…

She shakes her head, leading me off the dance floor.

My heart pounds, all the worries I had come flooding back. Suddenly sober, I want the bite of another drink. 

We lean against the wall near the exit, cool night air chilling my flushed skin. The song Lucio had played for us transitions seamlessly into something slower, sensual. He thinks we’re still out there on the dancefloor.  

Angela cradles my hands in hers, her face distraught with tears at the edges of her eyes. 

“I thought I could do it, enjoy it in the moment.” She mutters, if I weren’t desperately clinging onto every word she said it would’ve sounded like a whisper to the wind.

It hurts.

“Scheisse(Shit),” She takes a breath and wipes her eyes. “Lena, I don’t date to date, I‘m in it for the long run.”

I’m as confused as ever, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Missions, yeah, that’s our job, but-

Oh

Fuck

“Jack is going to announce it tomorrow, a lot of the base is being stationed at other watch points.” 

The fresh tattoo on my wrist throbs.

“They had been talking about it for a while, Ana’s report sealed the deal.” 

My mouth is dry, I hold on, strong, fight. 

I just nod.

“Oh Lena, I’m so sorry-”

“No,” I stop her, holding onto her tighter, “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault and…”

It’s not what I believe, but I can’t make her.

“I’m not going to push you. If you’re looking for long term and I’m no…ugh” I smile reflexively, a defense mechanism I was once told. Tears now prick at my eyes. It stings and the pit in my stomach gnaws at itself. “Words are hard yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles too.

“Look, I’m open for anything; long-term, short-term, something sweet and simple. Anything as long as it’s with you.”

We’re so close yet now there’s a rift between us. Sappy, I want so much. 

“You’re so sweet, Lena.” She sighs and strokes the back of my hand, “If...When we run into each other again when this is all over and neither of us are seeing anyone. I’d love to try for something more.” 

It’s hope, it may be a lie, something to just comfort me. But still, it eases the pain.

Still fricking hurts though.

I swallow it, a chuckle cause hopefully it’ll put her mind at ease. That it doesn’t hurt me as much as it does. Smile, hide it for her. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

I hold it together as she pulls me into a hug. My lungs quiver and I hold on tighter. 

I just want to fade, to stay in this moment. It was short really, but the few great moments, the fluttering of the heart. Sweet smiles, sparks with every touch. 

“I should return to the base.” She says. 

We part, both wiping tears from our eyes. 

“You want me to walk you back?” 

She shakes her head.

“How ‘bout out the door then, love.”

Angela relents with a smile. We hook arms, lighthearted and giggling, as if nothing just happened. The cold air is a slap in the face compared to the hot air of the bar. 

Enjoy the moment

“I had a lovely night, Lena.” 

Back to friends I guess.

“I did too, Angela.” We embrace one last time. She steps back, “I’ll see you back at base.”

She walks a few steps. “Don’t stay out too long.”

Further and further.

“No promises.”

Until she disappears around the corner. 

Numb

I don’t want it to set in just yet.

I walk back into the pub, Lucio just inside waiting for me with two drinks in hand; he must’ve caught the tail end of it. He has a sad smile and offers me a glass.

Wordlessly, we tap them together and toss them back.

It burns as hot as the tears that spill down my face. 


	6. Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUSPENSEEEEEEEE

Mmmm soft, warm, in a bed. Deep breath. My bed.

Good, so I didn’t end up at some hotel with a stranger.

I burrow in, twisting and wrapping myself into a giant burrito. Snug, I curl up slightly, the room still dim. Ahhhh so comfy, so warm.

Little Oxton burrito, cozy

The alarm hadn’t sounded yet, I still had time.

_Bssst bssst_

Or not.

With a good amount of struggling, I wrench my arm out of the covers and shut off the clock. 0300, why would I do this to myself. I lay for a bit, content with the stillness of the base. I try to recall last night's events.

Let’s see

Self pity, yes, plenty of that

two shots, a little dancing.

I glance to the bedside table, a pile of bead bracelets strewn about.

Hrm, where did those come from.

I flop about, no way I’m leaving my cocoon of happiness, and scoot closer to the edge of the bed. More evidence is scattered on the ground.

The once orange shirt I wore is splatter with an array of colors. Paint I would hope, the track short don’t fare much better.

I think harder; Lucio ordered a ‘full rainbow’, sixteen shots that we shared with the crowd. A salty tang and giggles. Fingers in my hair, a pair of lips. Talented lips.

I grin at the vague memory. Body shots.

There’s a couple crumpled wrappers on the floor, go-bars, one half eaten but smushed into the linoleum tile. That’ll be a pain to clean.

Thankfully, I spot an the small empty bottle of ‘overhang’, a literal godsend, arse tasting shot to prevent hangovers. I smack my lips, yep, that’s the taste.

Even without a headache, my body is still sore from whatever turn the party took last night. I take a peek at the clock, hoping that it somehow went backwards to let me sleep in.

0310

Damn...well I could just hop back in time.

Wait

Panic, I unfurl myself, hands shooting to my chest. The harness is gone, hands only finding the cylinder embedded into my ribcage.

I flick on the lights and dash to the closet, nearly falling flat on my face when i step barefoot on the go-bar I saw earlier. It’s hook on the wall empty.

Oh shit

Oh shit

Oh _fucking_ shit

I don’t know where it is, I don’t remember ever taking it off. I tear apart my room, searching for it’s blue glow, listening hard for its hum.

Think, Lena, think.

Body shots, bar food, bracelets, dancing, kissing,

Touching

The blood runs from my face, I look into the mirror on the back of my door.

Scratch marks, bruises and hickeys.

Did I take it off? I sit, trying to remember anything else but just drawing up a blank. Sighing, I slip on my usual uniform and quickly make my way across the barracks to Lucio’s room. My knuckles rap lightly on the door, listening for any movement.

“Hey, Lucio, it’s Trace.” I whisper just loud enough so he could hear me.

There’s a thud and a groan behind the metal. A few seconds of shuffling and the door cracks open.

“Man, you know what time it is.” He whines. He’s still in the same clothes from last night, splattered with paint just like mine.

“I’m in hot water, mate. I have no idea where my accelerator is.”

He doesn’t flinch, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Maybe he has it or at least has a clue.

“What? You had it on when went to the med-bay last night.”

My heart sinks, it wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. Thankfully, there isn’t anyone else awake to hear my less than hush response.

“I went to where now?!”

“Eyho, chill Trace, lemma fill you in. You got into a scuffle last night outside the pub, chased some creep down an alleyway. By the time I caught back up with you, you were on the ground, face all bloody with a couple of your teeth in your hand.” I pull back, my jaw feels fine. Checking with my tongue, all my teeth are still in their place.

Fear swells to the back of my throat; I know I’m a lightweight but I always remember my stupidity the next morning. This is the first time I can’t recall an entire event ever happening.

“It’s probably with Angela. I know she’s like, the last person you want to see right now.” He’s right about that, especially since there are unexplained love marks all over my body. “You know what, I’m up already, lemma get dressed and I’ll go with you to talk to her.”

I numbly nod.

If...If I was so hammered...went to see Angela. Of course she fixed me up. Yeah, that’s all that happened. I snogged a girl at the pub, got in a fight, came back and the doc patch me right up. She took off my harness to see if I had any other injuries. Yeah, logical

So she would’ve seen the marks on my skin.

Or she was the one who put them there.

“Awwaaahhh.” I let out a soft groan of frustration, the literal empty hole in my memory screaming at me to be fixed.

The wall is nice and cold against my face, something solid to focus on. My head still running through possibilities that could’ve happened last night.

Maybe I got so drunk I made out with Lucio

I instantly frown, no way. Plus, he would’ve said something.

“Alright, let’s bounce.” He pauses, giving me a look of confusion at the blatant disgust on my face. “What’s with the face. You didn’t eat one of those ‘barf-bombs’ did you.”

I roll my eyes and push myself off the wall.

“Naw, just thinking who I got lucky with last night. It...wasn’t you was it?”

Lucio’s face goes from confusion to relief to a pity excuse of trying to keep his composure. His cheeks puff in a losing effort to hold back a burst of laughter.

“Hahah, man, I love you Trace. Just not that much.”

The mood is instantly lightened, relieved, I join him.

“I am thoroughly insulted, I find myself a rather dashing fellow!” I thump my chest, adopting a horrendously cliche posh British accent.

“Uh-huh, sure, ‘cept it’s the ladies dashing _away_ from you.”

It takes my mind off the impending awkward conversation with the doctor.

The research sector is eerily quiet, all the labs that are usually alive with experiments and the occasional explosion now sit dark and empty. We pass a couple patrols, a few words exchange, but we’re pretty well known around the base so it’s mostly nods and soft good mornings.

Oddly enough, the door to the medbay is shut, the lights inside shining through the small windows. I stand on my toes to take a look around through the glass..

“It’s empty.” I say, the room neat like always.

Lucio takes a look himself, laying an ear on the door. He shrugs and tries the handle.

It silently glides open, the smell of disinfectant wafting over us. We peek our heads in, no cheerful greeting, no tapping away at a computer, nothing.

“Doctor Zeigler?” I call out.

I tentatively step into the bay. It feels as if I’m intruding without the doctor here. I look to the right where her attached quarters are.

The door is propped open but the room is dark, I can only see the silhouette of the well made bed.

Something’s wrong, or at least really really off.

“Don’t she usually leave a note or something when she’s out?” Lucio voices my thought, searching over the regular spot that a holodisk would sit with a little message like “Lab 96, comm is off, will return at 1700” or something of the sort.

I feel the anxiety steadily building.

Fuck, right, my meds.

“Maybe she’s taking a shower in the commons.”

I want it to be true but we both know it’s unlikely. The woman has a full bathroom, even a little kitchen and fridge. She could live in here if she wanted to, which she was known to do on occasions for weeks at a time.

“Trace, over here.” Lucio waves me over to the lab opposite of the entrance. I see the familiar white shape of my harness on the far table. We enter, it’s a bit messier than the examination area; a few tools strewn about.

Her valkyrie suit hangs next to the door, nearly giving me a heart attack.

With Lucio next to me, we approach my chronal accelerator. It sounds different, instead of a hum, more of a low whine. A couple of the white shell is removed and set aside, exposing a mess of wires and circuitry. But the surface looks normal, no new scratches or dents.

Did I damage it in the scuffle last night?

“See, what’d I tell you. Doc’s just fixing it up for you.” He still sounds nervous. I think he notices the same issues I do.

As I step closer I get to the piece of tech, the ring of light flickers and flashes between two colors, its whine getting louder the closer I get.

Red

Blue

Red

_Take it_

My hand jerks forward but I pull it back. The casing is open, could be unstable. Best I don’t mess with it.

“Let’s leave.” It’s not a request, I grab his arm and push him out. We take one more look at the accelerator before ducking out the door and shutting it closed behind us.

My heart pounds. It just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I expect to hear heels or footsteps, knowing my luck with surprise encounters. But nothing, the hall is quiet.

“Soo….” Lucio straightens up, obviously rattled.

“I’ll ask her about it at breakfast.” I offer him a nudge and we start walking back to the barracks.

“Yeah, sounds good. Just, leave out the part about us snooping around her office. Don’t know about you, but all that just creeped me out.”

I glance behind us at the closed door of the med-bay. My accelerator’s in there, being worked on...I want to trust her, she knows the tech better than me anyways. She’s brilliant, but I just can’t shake it.

“Me too, mate.”

Maybe I should listened and taken it back.

 

* * *

 

I relish the burn of my lungs of the cold morning air. My calves sting, my lips tingle. 20 more yards then I’m done.

Runner’s high people call it. I think just feels nice.

It’s still dark out, the first wisps of light peeking out over the skyline.

I finally reach the top of the hill, the best sunrise watching spot save for the actual watch towers. Half mindedly, I unwrap an apple go-bar to combat the slight rumble in my stomach. A ritual, Angela had suggested I adopt a few to help with my condition.

Angela.

I let out a huffs, angrily chewing on wad of oats and fruit leather in my mouth. It’s always her, why her. I used to think it was simple pining, maybe it’s something more. Why don’t I try to think of something else.

How about Jack or Gabriel? What are they up to?

At eachother’s throats no doubt.

Typical, best friends always have the ugliest fights

_Shipping out_

The thought churns my insides. Yes, two and a half years here, my life, my home. To where I don’t know yet; wherever I’m needed.

New adventure, the fear battling with my intuitive thirst new experiences.

I guess whatever happens, happens.

I take my time in the shower when I get back.

 

* * *

 

I don’t see Angela at breakfast.

 

* * *

 

The news breaks, Jack doesn’t give us a clear explanation. Some postings are to fill in holes, Talon activity rising, bolstering old watchpoints. Some are given a month, others are leaving tomorrow.

I’m given two weeks

I guess I’m one of the lucky ones, Lucio is being moved next Monday.

“Mexico, at least I’ll be able to get rid of these sleeves.” He jokes.

Lucio always hated wearing sleeves.

It’s Mongolia for me.

The base is in a flurry of activity, people chattering away. Some take the move badly but most seem to approve of it. Word of finally getting things done, getting some action.

Making a difference.

I sit in Lucio’s room, helping him pack up his things, putting non essentials into a box to stick into storage. We start a pile to donate to a shelter in town, the bead bracelets are the first to go into it.

My fingers trace the pictures of smiling faces, obviously family. A mother, a sister, what looks to be an uncle and a pair of nephews. There’s so many of them. I think to my folks.

Mum would send me letters once in awhile, pictures from the sky whenever she flew over our watchpoint in London. That was nearly a year ago, before the accident. Now…

When Winston told her about my disappearance, she hopped into her own wings and took to the skies looking for me; scouring the path I was supposed to take. I came back two months later.

But she never did.

News broke of my reappearance and relocation to the Swiss base. No one could find her or her plane, the tracker just stopped existing. They tried, at least that’s what Winston told me. She wasn’t affiliated with Overwatch so they couldn’t pour resources into the search.

Two weeks after my first blip into existence in the fishbowl, her plane turns up at the London Watchpoint. They almost shoot it out the sky, ‘cept scans show no pilot, no weapon systems, nothing. They confirm it’s Alice Oxton’s aircraft, many of them studied to fly under her in the exact plane.

Mum was always a local hotshot.

But they inspected it top and bottom, nothing; no damage, no sabotage and no black box. Stumped they were, plane was low tech, couldn’t have landed itself yet patrol said it did so perfectly.

And that’s as far it went, missing persons was announced and eventually faded away. Four months, no sign.

She’s out there, somewhere in the sky.

Pops on the other hand; life in prison with charges unknown since I was a little gal. Mum would never talk about it, he would never tell me when I visited now matter how many times I asked. But the visits were always nice, he would tell me how he was teaching other prisoners how to read and write, I would tell him about me and Overwatch.

Even behind thick glass, his smile; full of pride.

I wonder if he knows about what happened…

“Thinking about your mom and pop again?” I am pulled back out of my memory, quickly wiping the small tears at the corner of my eyes.

He’s caught me like this a couple times before, always when I look at pictures of his family. His hand rubs my back, the other gently taking the picture I had taken off the board at some point. I wonder if it’s even harder for him, to be away from family that’s still alive, that loves him.

A selfish thought.

We continue dividing Lucio’s life into boxes and duffel bags. Idle chat filling up the silence; he pulls out two pairs of taco print boxers, apparently having found another that morning.

I question why he is collecting them.

He shrugs, “They’re comfy. And hey, ain’t saying no to free comfy boxers.”

I wrinkle my nose.

“Don’t gimme that look man, course I washed ‘em before. Ain’t that nasty.”

Ten minutes later, we somehow end up huddled around the computer, watching a pair of idiots stick a plasma lamp into a microwave. We both flinch and then burst out in laughter when the thing explodes, showering the chamber in a rain of molten pink ooze.

“Wooo man, look at that splatter.”

I’m about to click on the vid of them microwaving cup of matches and vodka when my communicator buzzes, Mercy popping up on the holo.

We share a glance and he mutes the music. There’s a fluttering in my chest, I want to see her so badly. Could I just pretend, for a moment, that everything was perfect?

“Hey doc, what’s up?”

I flash her a grin but realize that it’s not a video feed, just an audio call.

“You sound good considering the state you were in last night.”

It’s teasing, light without any bite. So she’s not mad...soooo

I fall into a comfortable banter, knowing better, but it feels right.

“You’re just that good, Angela.”

“You flatter me.”

“I try, love.”

I see Lucio roll his eyes, making a puking motion with his hand. I smack him on the arm, earning a pout from him.

“Are you free at the moment. I have your accelerator here from last night.”

Although I’m in a cheery mood, the subject of the accelerator makes me think of what we saw this morning. A shiver shoots down my back. Might as well face it now.

“Yeah, I’ll be right over. See you in ten.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

The connection is cut. Lucio is already looking at me with disapproving eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“Watch yourself, Trace. She’s your doctor. Didn’t we talk about this.”

I shuffle my feet, embarrassment creeping up the back of my neck. I can’t help the lopsided smile that spreads on my lips.

“I know, I know. It’s all fun.”

It is, harmless, we’ve already established the extent of our now friendship. What’s the harm of some mutual flirting.

“I’m all for that. Just...don’t let it get messy.” He speaks from personal experience, a thin smile.

A twinge of guilt.

I open the door, throwing him a two finger salute.

“No promises, mate. I’ll be right back.”

I set off for the research building once more, mulling over exactly what I would say to the doctor.

‘Hey, thanks for patching my bloody arse when I was pissed up at 1am in the morning. By the way, any chance was we shagged a bit, maybe a bit ‘o necking.’

I sigh into my hand and tousle my hair. Honestly, I don’t know how I should act around her anymore.

Professional? Tosh, can’t even do that with commander.

Can’t go back to flirting, might make her uncomfortable, not to mention it’ll drive me nutters.

Maybe I should just leave her alone, not like I’ll be on base for a much longer.

I sigh again, this wasn’t going to be easy.

 

* * *

 

The door is wide open this time, soft cello music floating out from the room. She’s humming along to it, typing away at her desk when I walk in. Angela looks up and smiles, it’s not the same one from before, all lip and no teeth. It still makes my heart leap all the same.

Is it crazy for someone to make me so happy and so sad at the same time?

“Hey doc!”

I notice the tired look in her eyes. My smile falters, I want nothing more to just wrap her in my arms and ask what’s wrong. But no, we’re past that, professional as possible.

She says something about repairing my accelerator as she leads me to the workshop in the back. I can’t help myself as my eyes glance at the computer screen as I pass. It’s just a wall of text, too small for me to read at such a distance.

A report? An article on a new study? Experiment results?

An invasion of privacy.

I’m not Reyes, I’m not part of Blackwatch, I’m Angela’s friend damn it. I should act like it.

Guilt.

“Tracer?” I stiffen, it’s weird for her to address me by my callsign off the battlefield. “Do you remember what you said last night?”

She must’ve noticed me spacing out.

“No, not really, all I know is Lucio found me in a puddle of blood and brought me to you.”

She leans back on the table where my accelerator sits, starting at the ground. Is it fear that creases her face like that?  Bollocks, what did I say last night?

“Correct, I was finishing up a research article when Lucio brought you in. It was impressive considering how intoxicated the two of you were. You were quiet and he waited as I patched you up. I sent him to his quarters when he kept falling asleep in the chair.”

I can tell that she’s tiptoeing around something. There’s this thing she does where she keeps tucking her bangs behind her ear. Cute really. But she’s hiding something, hate to think I can’t trust the doc anymore.

“Lena, you told me everything that Reyes told you.”

Well shite

“Me and Gabe? Nah, we were just gossiping is all.” I try to play it off, really, not knowing what to say, flustered. This entire conversation is not what I wanted.

I can’t rewind, can’t escape, I have to deal with this right now.

“This is serious. I wish I could’ve told you myself and not Reyes. He gave you the wrong idea...He’s not the most level headed.” She stumbles over her words a bit but they’re curt and sharp.

 _‘Level headed’_ Definitely not a term anyone would use to describe Reyes, hell, not even Morrison. Yes, plenty of missions I’ve mucked in with Gabriel , he just runs off chasing one of the baddies down an alley and leaves the rest of the squad exposed. It got to the point where everyone expected him to do it now.

“But he’s a good man-”

“No, he’s not!”

Angela slams a fist onto the table, the tool on it rattle on impact. I flinch back, I’ve never seen the doc lose her cool like this.

Her eyes widen before she covers her face, muttering an apology for the outburst.

“Reyes has broken into my lab on multiple occasions during the night. He has tampered with my equipment, stolen research documents, look through my messages.”

The news hits like a shot in my chest; yeah he’s not the most agreeable mate but he’s one of us. Breaking into personal Angela’s personal stuff, it’s...crazy. I feel disbelief rising with my anger, why hasn't anything been done, why the hell is he still around?

“That’s not right, Angela, we have to do something.”

“I have already told Morrison. He won’t do anything, we can’t lose one of our most efficient agents. It’s...been hard.”

She just sounds so tired, so defeated. Can’t believe I trusted the wanker.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” I’ve never seen Angela with a bruise before, but she is a doctor with wicked tech at her hands.

“No, no. He’s raised his voice but nothing beyond that.”

I run my fingers through my hair. We both look to the side, lost for words. It sinks in, all of it I guess. Don’t really know who to believe.

Gabriel made it sound so urgent, so evil. She was using funds of some sort to do this research in an Overwatch facility all shady and secret, trying to play god. Hell, I don’t know about any of the experiments we do here but I’m sure something like this would be told-

No

I think of Amelie, how she was used to kill Gerard.

Talon.

“You didn’t want to tell anyone because of Talon.”

I know it’s completely off the subject, but the words of realization leave my mouth before I can stop them. I spent all this time afraid that Angela was hiding it all from us, but really, the less people know the better.

The doctor nods solemnly.

“Yes, only Winston and Gerard know, _knew,_ the complete details of my work through our collaboration. Morrison and Amari read the final reports.” Her knuckles turn white with the force she clenches her fists. It’s scary to see her so angry.

“But Reyes has already told half of Blackwatch, they’re doing calling for a transparency policy. Lena, if this gets out to the media, to the United Nations, Talon is going to have more people to use as targets.”

Her voice rises, spilling forth like a floodgate had just burst.

“I’ve gotten so far with this, years and years of my life. If it gets shut down, if _we_ get shut down; all of it will be a waste. And the people we won’t be able to help, they’ll all die because I was careless. I can’t let this go, I can’t let this fail”

I don’t know if it’s overstepping, if she’ll pull away, but to hell with it. Her heart is bleeding and I need to find a way to help. My hand gently tugs at her shirt, waiting to see if she shakes it off. She looks at me with big, hopeful eyes, sincere. I wrap my arms around her. At first her body is stiff. But after a second, I feel her return the gesture and hold tight.

To think this was all simple when I first signed up; a plane, a mission briefing, baddies to stop.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, love.” I try to look on the bright side, for her sanity, maybe for mine too. “we’re all good people just trying to do what’s right, the U.N. knows that. They’ll understand. ”

I can feel her heart pounding away, no doubt she can feel mine too.

“It’s all going to be okay.” She chuckles into my shoulder, hopefully at how cliche everything is and not anything else. “You’re doing good work that’s gonna save so many people, on and off the battlefield. Don’t give up, I believe in you, love.”

We stand like this for a bit as things start to calm down. It’s nice, like I can finally be there for Angela when she’s help me through so much. I wonder if she has someone she confides to. I really hope she does, even if it’s not me.

Here I go again, wishing that I could do more.

She is the first to let go, pulling back to dry her eyes and take a deep breath.

“If you ever need to talk, just buzz me. I’ll be there in a blink!” I do the little finger guns, she laughs. Success! The little things.

It definitely doesn’t look like she just cried, but who am I to say, I am a bit biased.

“Ah, well, back to why you’re here.” Angela claps her hands together. The harness looks good as new, I think she replaced the casing because there’s not a scratch on them.

I pick it up, it’s a bit heavier than I remember it to be.

“I took the liberty to update the hardware, it was nearly due for repairs anyways.” The straps fall into place, the familiar squeeze of them brings me a bit of comfort. Didn’t know how much I missed it until I didn’t have it. “The battery life is longer and now,”

She pops open a hatch in the from, revealing a socket and a cylindrical thing. Picking up a cord attached to the wall, she plugs it in and it hums just a bit louder.

“You can recharge or use standard E.G. fuel cells.”

A grin spreads on my face. Being able to pop in fuel cells instead of needed to leash it to the wall to charge is going to let me wear this baby more often and for longer, maybe even for everyday life if Winston lets me.

“That’s bloody wicked.”

I look down at it strapped to my chest, its pulse in sync with the beating of my heart.

And then I remember that morning. How it kept flickering red, its low whine. She was still working on it, course it’d sound weird; probably blinked red to warn me not to put it on. Nothing to worry about.

“Thanks doc.”

She unplugs me from the wall and gives me a fresh pack of fuel cells. We walk back to the examination room.

It feels funky, pinching my in a few places. She must’ve shifted the buckles by accident.

With a startled yelp, I collide into Angela’s back, too preoccupied with fiddling with the belts to notice she had stopped. Her body is rigid, shoulders tense. I look up and I feel my heart sink into my stomach.

“Reyes.”


	7. Gone (Tad bit of necking)

“Doctor Zeigler.” 

I look at him, his face looks even worse than the last time I saw him. The area around his left eye is swollen, almost sealing the eye shut but there is a sliver of white between the lids. He has a bundle of files in his hand.

Angela holds my arm and ushers me to the side. I stumble over my feet, i can’t look away from him. His face is unmistakably angry but not in a volatile way, more like seething; a volcano ready to blow. I ready my fists, if this bugger came in here to pick a fight.

“Tracer, it would be best if you left us.”

“No,” Reyes lifts his free hand to stop us, “I’m here to drop these off and I’ll be on my way.” 

He pretty much shoves the stack into the doctor’s arms, looking her dead in the eye. 

“What is-”

“Gerard’s notes from his quarters in France. My boys found them, I thought you might want them.”

What

Is he helping? 

His face looks as apologetic as I think I’ll ever see it. Angela and I just stand there, both our jaws loose in disbelief. She opens the first folder, papers of medical garble and charts. Increased rate of cellular deterioration? 

It snaps shut, finding a place on her desk. 

She extends a hand to the man.

“Thank you, Reyes. These will certainly be a big help. I can’t help but say that I am little surprised, but pleasantly so.” She smiles, shoulders still tense.

Reyes looks at the hand and blatantly ignores it, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“We’re just doing our jobs. I don’t like what you’re doing,” He looks at me, unreadable. I get the urge to scurry and tuck myself back behind Angela, “But if it’ll save lives.”

He grunts, avoiding any more eye contact, it sounds sincere enough. Tosh, I can’t figure him out! He’s acting all sorry, then back to a dick, then back to sorry. 

“It means a lot of hear you say that, Gabriel. If you’d like; I can take a look at that eye of yours and I’ll answer any questions you have about the project.” 

Apprehension grips me, they seem like they made up but to think Reyes and Angela alone, after everything she just told me. Maybe I should stick outside the door, just in case-

“I’m fine. The boys and I will around in case one of your  _ experiments _ go wrong.” He sneers before leaving.

And back to being an arse biscuit. 

The air is still tense even with him gone. Angela’s shoulders sag down, her body landing heavily in the office chair. The first of the folders is peelde away from the pile. 

“I worry about him.” Her gaze lingers on the open door, shake of the head and then down at the desk, “I better get to work on sifting through these. I’m sure you have better places to be.”

Yeah, like in your bed.

Ugh, Lena, just turn it off for one second. 

“I’ll leave it to ya,” I bound to the door, tossing her a little salute. “See you around, doc!”

Angela nods from behind her desk, lipped smile. I dart into the hallway and smack first first into someone’s chest around the corner. 

“She talked to you.” Reye’s gruff voice sounds above me.

Boy, me and my luck. 

The hair on my neck bristle up. He has no right to play victim when Angela’s the one being harassed. 

“Yeah she did, maybe you should try it instead of rifling through her stuff you wanker.” I push him back, try too, he is a lot bigger than me. A little smug satisfaction pings in me when I see the surprise on his face.

It’s quick to disappear, replaced with a frown. He looks like a gargoyle with his drawn down eyebrows, ready to pass judgment. 

“She’s-”

“Your friend,  _ our _ friend. Would appreciate it if you’d stop giving her shit and start acting like one back to her.” 

I push past him, not wanting to deal with the anger bubbling over. My head needs some air, a minute away from this drama. I don’t know what Reyes looks like as I storm off, maybe he’ll have a magnificent realization of how much of an arsehole he is. 

Or maybe he’ll just go back to being an arsehole.

 

* * *

With a little grease in the wheels and a lot of begging, Lucio and I are able to convince Morrison and Amari to let us through a ‘going away’ party in the mess hall Saturday night. With it, we also condemn ourselves to cleaning up the mess first thing in the morning before breakfast. 

If this were the normal military, well, we’d probably be discharged already. 

“Trace! Grab me another powerstrip will ya?” Lucio shouts from the makeshift stage he’s setting up at the front of the room, I nearly drop the box I’m holding when I see the line of giant speakers. 

Don’t know where he got the stuff, but he has a whole DJ system hooked up when I come back with the refreshments for tonight. 

With a blink, I set down the exorbitant amount of alcohol and dash to the supply closet, grabbing a few of the strips. 

“Blimey, where’d you get this stuff.” I hand them over and help him plug the loose cords in.

“Called in a few favors. It’s nice to be a low-key celebrity.” He flashes me a grin. Yeah, low-key my arse. 

With everything plugged in, he flips a few switches, press a couple buttons and the speakers come alive with a deep bass. It rattles the tables before he’s able to turn down the volume. We both wait, eyes wide looking at each other, fully expecting Morrison to come rushing in shouting about the loud music.

A minute pashes with nothing and we both burst into laughter. 

“Man, tonight’s gonna be lit!”

It’s exciting, one last big bash before the first big shipment on Monday. My heart races, picturing the hall filled with people, dancing to Lucio’s music, letting go of their worries. Soldiers being people, alive and happy to be so.

Maybe for the last time.

“You know, when we said party, I was thinking drinks and games of flip cup, maybe some drunk karaoke.” I pull him into a side hug, grin big enough to make my cheeks hurt. “But I like this idea a whole lot better.”

“Hell yeah, don’t count out the karaoke part though, Reinhardt rapping is still the sickest I’ve ever heard. Come on over, lemme show you the line-up I got for tonight.”

We flip jump through the tracks, smiling, laughing. My mind pulls back, autopilot while cracking jokes with my best friend.

Like in the clouds looking down on everything, experiencing all of it without being  _ there. _

Like a hollowness in the chest and shallow breathes.

I’ve successfully avoided the thought for two days through gym time and late night jam sessions with Lucio. To leave this comfort, my lad, my home. Half my room is already packed up, it was hard looking through the letters from home. Let Lucio read them for the first time, he said it meant a lot to him, feels like we’re family now.

I called pops last night, he cried, relieved to know I was alive and well. I cried so much with him, we swapped stories, apparently he broke up a fight and took a pencil 5 centimeters deep in his back. 

For a bit, felt like we were just normal people. Me in some far off study abroad program, him at some wacky security job with people trying to stab each other with writing utensils. Run of the mill blokes. 

He said he had spoken to mum before she took off, said she had this feeling like she knew where I was and promised to bring me home safe. We hold onto hope that maybe one day…

The call ends, another round of goodbyes.

But that was the past, this is now, and the future is going to be awesome. 

 

* * *

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

Everyone hoots and hollers as Jesse rushes from the table towards the bog, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. He might be a sharp shooter, but he’s a terrible shot at slap cup, losing 3 rounds in a row. 

What I don’t expect is Gabriel to follow him, mumbling a ‘I should check on him’ before slipping out after the cowboy. 

Aw shucks, arsehole cares. 

A pleasant buzz hums in my body, music drums in the other half of the auditorium where a good crowd of people are dancing in front of the set-up. Lucio’s is all smiles, working the crowd as he does with his magic, waves and shouts under the dim lights. 

Mary, one of the newer recruits, sets up for another round of king’s cup. Thought I was a youngest but these newbies and their wicked college drinking games are kicking our asses. I look down, why can’t lift my hand?

Fingers are intertwined with mine, soft. A laugh sounds ears, a warm breath, a nose poking at my shoulder. I feel like I should be shocked, not really sure when all this started. 

I remember a few drinks with Lucio, a little dancing. A hand grabbing mine, laughing, so light, dancing together. Drinking games, more touching.

Someone’s whispering a comment that makes me break out in a fit of giggles.

Whoa ho ho, when did this happen.  _ What _ is happening?

I glance over to my right and it’s Angela sitting next to me in a loose t-shirt and a blush on her cheeks. Her eyes are closed, snickers barely stifled by her tight lips. I swear there’s a halo around her head, fuck I’m really on the piss aren’t I? 

I can feel the heat rise in my own face. Well, it’s not the worst situation to find myself in. 

Suddenly aware of everything, I can feel her thumb stroking the back of my hand. How her body is pressed up against mine as we’re seated on the ground in a circle. How she leans in close, looking at me through her lashes, so close. She smells like wine and sweets. 

My heart goes nuts and I can’t pull away.

Can’t think straight, hah, cause I’m not. Oh how many drinks did I have?

“They’ve been in there for a while, maybe someone should check on them.”

Oh, oh, oh, she’s...she’s suggesting something isn’t she. 

I can’t focus on anything with her and the way her words blow air across my neck. The room is blurry, not that I really care. I try to find the appropriate words, something to say ‘piss off, I see your game and I ain’t falling for it.’ or ‘let’s take this somewhere a bit more private, love.’

“Yeah.”

Nailed it.

“Lena~” Her voice makes my heart leap into my throat, I choke on my cider. Arms pull me close, rubbing my back as I sputter. Oh piss, she’s leaning up on me way more than necessary, obviously just as drunk as I am. 

Didn’t we...didn’t we talk about this at some point, about us being…

“ _ We _ should go check on them.”

She whispers right into my ear, tingles spreading like wildfire down my spine. Oooo, that’s new. 

I know it’s a shite idea, I know, I know, I know. But...I deserve to be happy too right? With all that’s going on and if she’s the one startin’ things. I’ll only take it as far as she wants it, yeah, and if things get too much.

Her hand tugs me to my feet, excusing the two of us as we set off in search of the two guys.

Yeah, two lonely people looking for a little comfort. 

We walk, impressively steady, out of the room and into the empty hallway where a trio walks on patrol. Volunteers for those who didn’t want to take part in the celebrations. Brave souls they are. Cheers to the brave souls! 

It starts with a joke, I think it was mine, maybe it was her, but after a minute we’re creeping around pretending to be secret spies. We’d be shot in the first 5 seconds with the amount giggling we do. Hopping from corner to corner, we press our bodies flat beside the doors of the loo. Even through the metal, we can hear retching. 

The sound sobers us up pretty quickly.

We look  at each other, kind of lost for what to do now that we’ve reached our destination.

“McCree, Reyes, It’s Zeigler. Do you need assistance?”

She pushes open the door. I can see a pair of knees from under the stall doors, hunched over the toilet while another figure stands behind them. Gabriel peeks out from behind the wall, looking mighty irritated but in like a mother hen type of way. 

“He’ll be fine, get him bottle of overhang.” He replies deadpan, going back to handing the poor sod wet towels to wipe his face. 

“We’ll be right back then.” Angela cheerfully replies, pulling me along towards the med-bay.

Great, another adventure. 

Of course we go back to playing spies, doing our drunken best to hide in the shadows to avoid the extra patrols Morrison had posted. I trip over a crack and Angela catches me before I fall face first onto the concrete. We break out with laughter and of course, it’s none other than Captain Amari that turns the corner to check out the commotion.

She takes one wiff of us and instantly shakes her head.

“Doctor Zeigler, I expected better from you.” Angela hangs her head in shame, “Miss Oxton, not so much.”

I smile stupidly, snapping a salute. 

“Ma’am, just ol’ McQueef some overhang, ma’am!” 

She howls, bending over and slapping her knee. I’m confused at first until Angela jabs an elbow into my side, mouthing the word ‘really?’

What,  _ oh _ . I scramble to correct myself

“McCree, ma’am, Jesse McCree.”

We had been calling him McQueef ever since he farted during a particularly intense game of slap cup. 

The captain is still chuckling, wiping moisture from the corners of her eyes as she straightens up. I can tell Angela is nervous next to me but Amari seemed to have really gotten a kick from the nickname.

“Carry on you two, make sure we don’t have a company of zombies tomorrow morning.” 

We nod and walk normally the rest of the way.

“McQueef.” I hear the captain say to herself behind us.

With all the bottles of overhand we can find in the med-bay dumped into a large bag, the doctor and I make our way back to the mess hall. Our shoulders keep bumping into each other, our hands brushing together. She leans in way too close to tell me things. I want to say it’s all because we’re both drunk. 

But I don’t know, I don’t know what she’s thinking. If she’s thinking the same thing I am, that maybe we can make this work. 

She smiles at me, commenting on how bright the stars are tonight. A toothy smile that sends my heart into a tailspin. Bright as the stars dancing above us.

Take pity on me, cruel world.

We’re right back at the entrance to the bathrooms. It’s quiet now with just a rough groan that echos on the tile walls. Jesse is still slumped over the rim of the toilet bowl, looking a wee bit better in the face. 

“Thanks, I’m taking him back to his room to sleep it off.” Reye accepts a small bottle and slings Jesse’s arm around his shoulders. 

“No dad.” He grumbles out, Angela and I look at each other. 

Hold back your laugh, stop it, stop it you.

“I’m not your dad.” 

“Damn right.” 

The two of them turn the corner, their banter still echoing down the halls. It’s cute to know that Reyes has a soft side, even if it’s only to Blackwatch folk. 

The bathroom is oddly quiet compared to the energy of the mess hall, a stillness that I begin to relax into despite the knowledge of McCree puking his guts out just seconds ago. I feel a presence, looking up and see Angela leaning in close. 

Piss, she’s so close.

“Uh, hi, love.” 

I smile sheepishly, trying not to look her in the-don’t look her in the eye, cause if I do-

Blue, dark and murky through lashes, lips caught in the clutches of her ivories. 

Shite

My mouth goes dry, red full lips, soft from what I remember. She’s saying something, stop looking at her mouth and listen you wanker.

“Do you mind if I kiss you?” 

It’s low and sultry, my knees go weak at the sound. I want to hear it in a better place, somewhere a bit more private, or at least not the loo. Saying my name-

No

No, abort, Lena, abort.

Tell her no

“No.”

Fuck fuck fuck

Wrong answer! 

Fucking play of words.

She leans in closer.

My body locks up, I can’t move. Oh I want this but I shouldn’t, I really really shouldn’t. 

Her breath ghosts over my parted lips, I can smell her, nothing distinct nothing bad, just  _ Angela. _

_ You shouldn’t _

I know, you damned pillock of a brain!

Fire erupts on my lower back, her fingers finding purchase there and easing me flush against her body. So warm, my hands clammy and shaking but she holds me tight, not letting me go even if I wanted to.

Too late now.

In a second her lips are on mine, moving slowly, lazy almost. I reciprocate because it just  _ feels so damn good.  _ So right, like nothing is wrong in the world. Happiness swells bringing me higher and higher.

We’re just two lads at some holiday party snogging in the bathroom. 

A hand tangles itself at the back of my head, gripping, a scraping that sends waves down my spine. I can’t help but groan and feel her smirk against me. It isn’t until I feel bareskin do I realize my own fingers are questing up the front of her shirt, across the scalding skin I find.

You’re a friggin’ hormonal idiot, Lena

At some point, my back hits the cold wall, Angela’s body pressing in hard. There’s her weight everywhere on my body, pinning me and making everything  _ so damn hot _ . Delightful friction makes my head spin and we keep kissing lost to the rhythm.

I’m out of breath, something warm drips down my face.

Am I...crying?

Tosh, that’s embarrassing

Even in this position, having everything I’ve wanted for the last week, I feel it clawing it’s way back up my throat. The rensentful talons of reality.

“I’m sorry.” It startles me to hear my own voice say it. “I wish...I wish we had”

A chance? More time? A more boring profession?

Maybe a little less clothing?

“Yes, me too.” It’s breathy and sincere and bloody hell it melts my heart into a puddle of mush.

The next kiss is softer, more of an apology. Tears make it taste salty and bitter.

“You’re a good person, Lena.” She’s crying too. Still so beautiful, “If this was different.”

It can be, damnit!

Let’s just try this, let us have our fun for a week before I get shipped out. Before either of us die. Life is short, please, Angela, please just let us be happy for a few days. Please 

But I can’t say any of that. She has made up her mind and I have to respect that. 

My lips hesitate the next time they meet hers, I’m just can’t help myself. It hurts.

Why do I keep doing this.

_ Tearing, throbbing, tumbling down _

We can’t keep doing this, it’s hurting me Angela. 

Can’t you see my heart bleeding? 

The tears keep coming, angry and hot, carrying with them all the things I can’t say. 

I find my voice, small and scared. 

“Maybe one day.” 

“One day.”

“Or another lifetime, another universe.” Getting stuck in time changes your perspective on the world, afterall. 

Teeth grind together, my head numb and trembling. It scares me, the amount of emotions stampeding through me. Like a dam, it breaks, shattering open and ripping past my mental filter, I can’t keep it back. 

“You make me feel so happy, Angela.” She looks at me, just a hair away from my face. Our foreheads rest against each others. “I don’t feel much, sometimes I pretend, tell myself that I do, thinking if I’m so good at convincing everyone else. But you.”

I pour my heart out, desperately trying to make her feel what I’m feeling. 

“Your smile.”

Does she feel the same way?

“Your brilliance.”

Am I over stepping?

“Your compassion.”

_ She’s just toying with your heart _

“All of you, Angela.”

I shouldn’t be doing this.

“No matter what happened, I just wanted you to know that.”

I run out of words, out of energy, my bones ache as does the rest of me. Heart empty. I picture myself curling up into a ball and disappearing from the world. But I know this feeling and I know that it will pass. I hold her tighter, 

Maybe for the last time

“And I know how you feel,” I choke, reminding myself that it’s not me, that it’s not something I can fix. Just fucking circumstances. “And I’m not going to try to change your mind. But if you ever do…”

Lucio had told me to let it go, that holding on will just make it hurt worse. But maybe that’s why I do it. So it does hurts, so I feel connected to this world. It’s hope and it’s the last thing I want to hold onto right now. 

She’s thinking, maybe she regrets it. Could she be wanting more right now, changing her earlier decision? Hope right?

But she doesn’t, she just shakes her head. My heart hurts. 

“I can’t-”

The door opens. 

Lucio walks in, sees us

We break apart, eyes wide.

Annnnd he walks back out. 

Well that just happened.

She looks at me, I look at her. The mood is instantly lightened as we share a chuckle.

“We should get back to the others.” 

My mind is still abuzz, I miss the contact the moment she pulls away. I drop the entire conversation, it’s pulling me down and i really don’t have the capacity to deal with it. Now’s not the time, now is the last time I’ll get to party with Lucio for a long while. But I’m grateful for the distraction. 

Angela presses one last chaste kiss on my lips. She doesn’t say anything, don’t even know how long we stay just looking at each other's eyes. 

The world sways a bit when I step forward. 

Yep, still a bit tipsy. 

It’s awkward, the alcohol helps smooth it over. I spot Lucio chatting with our little group when we walk back into the room. Reinhardt is on the floor and gives us a thumbs up. Odd. The bass drowns out the drumming of my heart. 

Lucio looks at me, smiling but I know those eyes.

Disappointment

I don’t want talk to him, I know what he’s going to say. So I let him walk past me without comment, sitting myself back down in the small circle. 

Angela doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me. Not another touch, another word, disappearing into the crowd of the dancefloor

I don’t see her for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

Another morning, another night of regrets.

It was a good night, really it was; at least I remember all of it. 

The good and the bad.

I really have to stop doing this myself. 

Wake up, shower, toothbrush

Is it her fault? My fault? I know I should just drop all of this.

Get dressed, cup of tea, go-bar

Am I so desperate for proof that I’m here

Pills, mirror, smile Lena

That I’ll make it hurt to know that I’m alive

Another day, another chance

 

* * *

“Oi, Lucio, we gotta clean up the mess hall before Morrison is on our butts!”

I rap on his door, checking the time. 0410, people will start waking up at 0500, breakfast starts at 0600. C’mon mate, I might be a time traveler but I can only lift and blink so much. 

He says something muffled by the steel, probably still trying to get his pants on.

The door opens but it’s not Lucio who steps out; taller than me, undercut, stubbly and a whole lotta marks on his neck.

Okay, wow, looks like the lad got his end away last night.

“Good Morning, Tracer.” he says, smooth with a tint of morning gruffness.

I don’t recognize a single bit of him but I’m not about to be rude. 

“Morning love!” I give him a thumbs up and he seems to find the interaction satisfactory for the situation. Nodding, he walks away without another word. I can’t help it when my eyes zero in on how his pants frame his ass.

Blimey, now that’s an arse

“I know right?” 

I jump out of skin, spinning and seeing Lucio leaning against the doorframe and watching the man walk away with a smug look. Had I said that out loud? The lad doesn’t look too worse for wear himself, I spot a couple hickeys here and there but covers them up with a large pair of headphones around his neck. 

I give him a shit eating grin and a fistbump. 

“Cheers, mate.”

“You know it man.”

 

* * *

We make quick work of the mess, it’s actually not as bad as I feared it would be. Seemed that everyone, even in their drunken state, did their part in landing cups into trash cans and keeping food off the floor. 

In hour, everything is cleared, a pile of bags in the dump and the speaker system crated up to be...don’t really know where it went to actually. I go out to drop off the trash bags and everything’s gone when I come back. Lucio gives me a sly shrug and a vague “Roadies man, they magical.”

By the time breakfast comes around, we’re both starving and eager to properly spill the details of last night. I can’t wait until he tells me about his escapades, but that also means he’ll ask me about the bathroom.

And Angela

I rub the side of my face at the memory, bloody hell of a woman. Glancing around the mess hall, I again don’t see her, but I do see Reyes sitting with Morrison and Amari; the three of them laughing and acting like real friends. He sticks an orange slice in his mouth and starts doing something with his hands, Amari almost falls out of her chair. 

My heart warms, maybe I was wrong about the wanker. 

“Lucio, look at ‘em.” I direct his gaze to the trio once he sits down, “innit weird?”

Lucio tilts his head in mild confusion, rubbing his eyes to make sure he’s seeing things right. He leans over with a hesitant smile.

“Yeah, haven’t seen them sit together for like months. It’s cute though.” 

I look at them for a bit longer before turning back to the Brazilian. 

“So, you and Mr. Pretty Boy?” 

“We just had a little fun, a little exercise between the sheets.” He wiggles his eyebrows, how he does it so well is beyond me. It nearly makes me lose a mouthful of eggs. 

I try to start another question, to keep him distracted but he knows my game.

His face suddenly goes serious, a stark contrast to our morning of dirty jokes and competition on how many ping pong balls we could find. It’s not a harsh look, not his ‘imma give you a low key-lecture’ face. He’s concerned, setting down his food and letting out a sigh.

“Lena, man, what’s up with you and doc? Is she stringing you along, cause if you need someone to tell her off, I’m here for you.” My brows furrow, I hadn’t expected him to look so concerned. We usually stay out each other's romantic endeavors apart of the occasional jab and teasing. 

But I think he can could see the hurt in my eyes whenever I see her or even hear her name, he knows me better than anyone here. 

Before I can even get my tongue working, I can feel the heat rising up, the pricking at the corners of my eyes. I don’t feel sad, but I can’t stop it from happening. I tilt my face up, trying to will them away.

I’m acting like a child, can’t even keep my emotions in check

It’s not me, Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton doesn’t get emotional over petty things. 

“It just sort of happened. A few drinks in, she finds me, starts staying close to me, holding my hand and shite. And half of me was all ‘don’t do it mate, this is bad news.’, but the other half was ‘let it happen, she’s the one that started it, let’s just be happy for a bit.’”

I’m wiping my eyes dry, doing everything to avoid his gaze. It’s humiliating, cause I know what’s going on, know that we agreed that i wouldn’t let it get this far. And I still went with it, I can’t answer the question ‘Why?’. 

“And the bathroom?” His tone is delicate, just a question, not an obligation to answer. 

“Okay, well that’s a bit of a long story and a bloody funny one.” 

With wild hand gestures and some reenacting, I recount the little adventure I had on the quest for overhand. It takes my mind off of where the story is leading to, talking about it like Angela and I were just friends being stupid. He laughs at the nickname ‘McQueef’, promising to use it the next time he’s on a mission with the cowboy. 

And then it finishes, and I tell him everything I remember; the crying, the kisses, the words that we exchanged. I don’t know what I’m feeling as I recall everything we said, repeating them makes me rationalize it. 

We were drunk, two lonely people looking for a little company. 

“And I’m not mad at her.” I clench my hands, it gets harder to say what I’m thinking. “I’m mad at the situation, ya know. This whole thing. Thinkin’ if there were something wrong with me, I could fix it, we could work on it together cause no one’s perfect.” A huff, coming to realization. “But it’s not, and it’s not something I can fix or change or control. And I sucks, it really does, that if I were staying, maybe we could’ve tried.” 

I’m smiling and crying at the same time. It’s all so queer, the circumstances and the what if’s. I have to remember that it will pass. 

Her face is all I see when I close my eyes, smiling and happy. 

Yeah

It will pass

Lucio pulls me into a hug, letting me wipe my disgusting face into his shirt. His hands rub my back in small circles. It’s comforting, I feel the grip around my throat and heart slowly release. 

“You’re good Trace, it’s her loss.” 

And I think about her, and exactly why i like her so much. Can’t pinpoint it, it’s just how I feel, can’t control it.

That’s okay

And it passes

We go the rest of the morning without another mention of the party. 

It’s his last night on base, he comes over to my room for one more jam session, his room bare except for a table and a cot. My room isn’t much better, but I at least still have my laptop setup to play some tunes and look up hamster videos. 

We make up scary stories, crazy conspiracies on who the leader of Talon really is. He says it’s my mum trying to get back at me for never washing the dishes. On any other day I would’ve hit him and told him to piss off.

But we can joke about it now, it’ll be the last time we see each other for a while. 

Maybe for the last time.

At some point, the subject of the bathroom incident comes back up, it’s lighthearted though. He’s laughing, sputtering and trying to catch his breath so he can tell me what happened after he walked in on us.

“So, so so, I had gone up to the little circle was like ‘hey, know where Trace is?’. They said you and Angela went to check on McQueef and Reyes at the bathrooms. So I thought I might as well check it out and take a piss. I open the door and there you two are, eating face.”

I give him a death glare but he waves it off.

“No, hear me out, it gets better, after I noped the fuck out of there, I go back to the circle and Wilhelm’s standing up and heading to the door. He’s like ‘Are they alright in there, I’ll see if the little one needs to be carried to his room.’ I grab his arm, trying to stop the bear of a man going ‘Naw man, chill, they good.”

I chuckle with him, trying to imagine how it would’ve ended if it were Reinhardt who had caught us. He motions me to stop and keep listening.

“And so, and so he looks down at me, a little drunk; ‘Are you sure. It’s better if I check.’ And he lifts me up and puts me down like I’m a doll. In my mind I’m going ‘Aw shit man, I can’t let this happen to Trace.’ So I leap up and latch onto his arm, throwing off balance and pull him to the ground, thanking the lord that he’s drunk and doesn't fight it. He doesn’t get back up, making the floor look like the comfiest bed there ever was. I just tell ‘don’t worry about it man, they got this.’ He finally gives up, maybe getting what I was trying to get at, but he stays down and then you guys walk in.”

He’s grinning like a madman and gives an over dramatic bow. 

“Trace, you are very welcome.” 

My sides hurt from laughing so much. Really, thinking back on it, the whole party was like something straight out of a sitcom. I give him a high five and a pat on the back.

“My lad, Lucio.” 

A beat, the laughing dies down. It’s just us sitting in the room, catching our breaths from the story. 

“You’re gonna have to talk to her.”

“I know...I know”

And so he drops it and so the rest of the night goes.

 

* * *

The loading bay is alive with people and apprehension. It’s happy for the most part, excitement and all with an undertone of fear and goodbyes. We don’t say it but we all think it, we have been the moment we signed on the dotted line. 

Out of everyone in the bay, a good number of us will die on the field. 

I sit and wait with Lucio on a line of crates, watching as they load out everyone’s stuff onto the heliplane. We keep taking pictures of ourselves with our phones, promising that we’ll send to each other and keep in touch. We know we will, at least try to. 

“This is it then.” 

He’s the first to say it, staring off, only a small pile of boxes are left. Then the people will be filed in. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

We just sit there in a comfortable silence, watching as they bustle about for a few more minutes. As soldiers all around us joke and say their goodbyes. I hear crying somewhere, but we keep it together until the very end. 

“I’m gonna miss you man.” 

“Don’t think I’m letting you off that easy, I’m still sending you a butt load of frog memes before bed each night.” 

The jokes are easy, but when the time comes and we’re standing face to face, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. I forget we’re soldiers part of an international band of misfits. We’re just two friends, saying goodbye for the summer. 

We hug, clinging, fighting back the tears and the knots in the back of our throats. 

This won’t be the last time.

I make him promise it.

“No promises.” He says back, half joking, using my line.

But we smile, one last fistbump, one last two-finger salute. 

And he gets on the plane, straps himself in, and waves.

I wave back

The door closes

The plane takes off

And so he’s gone

 

* * *

The first day is weird, the mess hall a little more empty, no Lucio to laugh and sit next to. Everyone is just a bit more quiet.

I still don’t see Angela

 

* * *

The second is a marginally better, Morrison has me running cardio drills with a few of the slower recruits. Keeps me busy, makes me proud when they tell me they wish I was staying.

I still don’t see Angela

 

* * *

Each day that passes, more and more people are shipped out, meal times get quieter and quieter. The third day, Lucio sends me a picture of his new quarters. The room’s a bit rundown, it being an older post, but ironically, he’s bunking with Mr. Pretty Boy.

I congratulate him, he tells me he’ll name their first kid after me.

I still don’t see Angela

 

* * *

The fourth day, I finally try one of those ‘barf-bars’ Lucio had told me to steer clear from for the hell of it and live stream it to him. I legitimately spit it back out and into the trashcan, gagging. 

He and Pretty Boy, Murcat, get a good laugh out of it.

I still don’t see Angela

 

* * *

Fifth day, Lucio streams to me with a wad of cotton taped to his cheek. Talon attacked, they didn’t get far but he was out in the yard when it happened. He took a rifle butt to the face right after he was able to sound the alarm. 

If he wasn’t outside, they would’ve gotten in with a lot less trouble, a lot more casualties. 

I’m glad he’s alive.

I still don’t see Angela

 

* * *

The sixth day, the day before my day, I take a bad fall down a hill while running with my little band of newbies. I’m not wearing my accelerator so I tumble and bounce my way down the concrete ramp, landing onto the gravel at the bottom.

I want to walk it off, try to, but one look at my knee and I see the the white of my knee cap. Don’t cry, don’t scream, just get up, get up and walk it off. You’re fine. 

But I’m not because I can feel the blood pouring down my leg, feel the creaking of the joint.

Frustrated, so bloody frustrated. I almost made it out of this place without having to talk to her. 

They carry me into the med-bay, my heart racing because there she is, rushing to my side at the sight the blood trail I’m leaving. She ushers everyone out, telling them to clean up the blood before someone slips.

“Hey doc.” I smile up at her, it’s awkward, but she’s helping me without the hint of a smile. 

“Scheisse,” She mumbles under her breath, wiping away the blood to get a better look. 

A prick and she injects me with something. Don’t know what it is, don’t really care as the throbbing eases up and my body feels a little heavier, sinking down into the bench. Half aware of what she’s doing, there’s some sort of machine in her hands that scans me knee with a pass of light. 

“Nothing’s broken thankfully.” Reassuring, she pushes the hair out of my face, dabbing away the sweat on my brow. 

I stare at her, dazed by the drugs. The light behind her makes a halo around her head, I have to remember myself of our history, of what happened last weekend. But she still looks so pretty.

“Lena, I have to irrigate the wound before I can close it up.” 

Don’t know what that means, but as along as she just keeps talking. 

I can see how sloppy her ponytail is when she turns around to grab something. Lopsided and haphazard, obviously rushed. But her hands are steady, face calm, this is just another routine injury. 

A towel is placed under my leg, a plastic cup placed over the finger long gash. She looks at me, warmly, a hand briefly squeezing mine. She looks sorry. 

“This is going to hurt a bit, hase.”

I don’t get the chance to tease her for the nickname before my knee explodes with scalding pain. For a split second, I get a glance at the clear cup flood with warm water that quickly turns red the moment it hits the wound. Even with the painkiller in my veins, I twist and whine at the sensation of water  _ surging  _ against torn flesh. 

Angela’s grip is surprisingly strong, even with me trying hard not to move, her hands keeps my twitching under control. Bollocks, it didn’t hurt this much to get the damn thing, why the hell does it hurt so much to fix it. 

It’s not a sharp pain, just a constant loud ache as more water is pumped into the laceration, rinsing any debris out. It’s done, right, how long does it have to go? There’s a pause, the cup lifts to drain the water onto the towel.  

“What exercises did have your squad do today?”

Through bleary eyes, I look at her gobsmacked. I didn’t even know Angela knew about my little training assignment. Why would she ask me about it now of all times?

“Why-”

“Just answer the question.” 

She’s using that doctor tone, the one you follow if you want the pain to stop. 

“Uh, we did a warm up laaaapp--- _ fuck” _

I grit my teeth, another stream of water washes against my knee. It hurts even more now. I thought we were done! My mind zeros in on the pain and I realize why Angela had asked the question out of the blue.

“Keep going, what else?”

I think, straining to block out the pain. 

“We did some stretches, moved to the obstacle course.” I struggle to actually say the words and not scream them out. My hands are desperately itching to shoot down and rip the blasted cup from my skin. “Vasquez is making progress. She has more foot eye coordination now.”

Another pause, I try to catch my breath. Looking to her, I pray that she’ll tell me that we’re done, that we can get the fucking thing closed up. She just gives me another apologetic smile.

“Once more, I promise.” I groan and brace myself, giving her a reluctant nod. I got this, just keep talking, keep think about the kids.

“Paul beat Mary in the 100 meter dash today, it got her knickers in a twist it did.” i choke on my chuckle, the towel under my leg now soaked red. “They said that one day they’ll beat me in a race, ha, think of that. Me, a pilot turned drill sergeant.” 

A little pride swells in my chest, thinking about my little group of rookies. Told they were the bottom of their class, stuck with me, looking up to me, trusting me to make ‘em better. It helps, thinking of their faces, of our short week together.

The water stops, the cup lifted.

“All done.” Angela says softly. A wave of relief washes over me, I didn’t even know how tightly I had been holding the vinyl cushion of the bench. 

I stare at the ceiling, hearing her leave the room towards the workshop to grab her staff. All I can think about is that I had just experienced the shittiest wound treatment ever and I am never falling onto gravel ever again. 

“You know what’s coming next.” 

It’s a well known  _ strange _ sensation to be treated by her nanobots. A sort of warm pulse and a tugging. She explained how they work to me once.

Guided by her medical knowledge, it’s like she thinks the wound healed. It’s still new tech, with her having to kind of listen to the feedback of the little guys and then tell them what to do.

And for that very reason is why Angela has the most dangerous job on the field. Having to focus on treating the wounds of whoever her staff was latched onto, unable to think about defending herself or anything else really. 

Don’t think I could do it, scary stuff yeah. 

The familiar hum fills the air, the warmth pools around my knee. It’s rather mesmerising to watch the skin stitch itself back together like magic. The tingling soon covers my entire body, erasing away the smaller scraps. A few moments and the cheery  _ ding _ is music to my ears. 

I look down, the skin flawless, as if it never happened. It still aches a bit, my nerves needing some time to realize that the wound was miraculously gone. She presses and stretches the spot a bit before giving a satisfied nod. 

“All better, how does it feel?”

I lift up my leg and bend it. There’s a slight pull but it feels a whole lot better than a minute ago. As I do so, the doc tidies up, tossing out the bloody gloves and towel. 

“Good as new, you’re a miracle, love.” My heart's still racing a bit.

She grasps the limb and bends the joint herself. Now that the pain’s gone, am I so very aware of her gentle grip, the warmth against my bare skin. As if she just realizes the touch is lasting a tad too long herself, she pulls back, a little pink tinting her face. 

It makes another ache surface in my chest. It might be the drugs, might be the adrenaline, might be the thought that today’s my last day here. But I gather up the courage just ask the question that had been plague my mind.

“So, about the party.” Her face falls, obvious that she had been avoiding it as well.

“I don’t want to talk about it-” She begins to turn away but I raise my voice a bit, unintentionally. 

“Shite, Angela, give me something.” It’s inappropriate, I know. That she just helped me feel better and here I am, demanding her to do something she doesn’t want to do. She twists back around, her lips in a thin line. 

Her face makes me want to stop, but I need closure. 

“What should I be expecting, is there something between us?” I steady my voice, pushing myself up to sit with my legs over the edge. Her eyes are blank, for the first time I feel a bit angry at her. “I can’t keep doing this. You push me away but then drag me back in. Bloody confusing and-”

I look down at my hands clamped around my thighs, trying to spit the words out before my brain stops me. It’ll be the only way I can keep my momentum and not chicken out. 

“Just give me an answer, tell me that there’s not a chance so I can move on. Please.” I need to hear to say it, at least verbally. 

Facing my feelings, confronting them. Lucio would be proud. 

Angela isn’t looking at me, her gaze distant and off to the side. Quiet, scared, she’s not just gonna walk away from this is she? She has to say something, anything. 

I wait.

“I’m...sorry about that. I didn’t mean to do it.” It’s barely above a whisper, full of regret. “It won’t happen again. There is nothing. I was drunk and I took advantage of you.” 

A punch in the gut, my stomach twisting but I guess it feels a little good. To know that it’s over, that I don’t have to keep thinking about it, keep avoiding her. 

“The feeling’s mutual. I just needed to hear it.” I take her hand but I don’t thread my fingers between hers; I just cup it in mine. She looks at the touch, allowing it to continue with a small smile. I can’t tell whether she’s actually sorry, what she was thinking throughout our  _ very  _ interesting relationship. 

But it’s okay, now we can both move on. 

“Is it so bad that I liked it so much?”

Well, with that wording, the question could be taken two ways. I give her the benefit of the doubt, smiling at irony of it all. 

“No,” I give her a smile, sad and wistful, “No, it’s not.”

Because of the circumstances, that it’s not either out faults. 

“Another time, another life.” 

Angela shakes her head with a slight curl at the corners of her lips. Both our eyes are locked on her hand in mine. 

This is it, the last time.

“I don’t hate you for it, we can still be friends Angela.” Truthfully don’t, maybe, it’s what I tell myself, maybe I’m still trying to convince myself actually. She pulls me into a hug, loose but it doesn’t matter, it makes my eyes hot all the same. 

“Yes. And I am sorry, Lena.” Lucio was right, it was a bit messy. 

“Don’t worry about it, doc.” I smile into her shoulder, the same thought coming to mind.

For the last time. 

There’s a knock at the door, of course, just my shite luck. 

But it’s an excuse for it to end, for us to part and just  _ move on. _

“Come in.” 

It’s some random soldier that I don’t recognize, his hand clasped around his left shoulder.

“Doctor Zeigler, commander wanted me to see you to get this check out.” 

I get to my feet, Angela already guiding him to a different bench. She looks again at me, mouth open as if to say something. It closes, lips purse, before opening again. 

“Call me if any complications arise.” Protocol, something easy to fall into. I can’t blame her, “Take care of yourself out there, Tracer.” 

It’s a bitter pill, but of course it’ll be rough at first and bloody awkward. I walk with a slight limp but neither of us are surprised. 

“Cheers, you too Mercy.” The callsign is stiff on my tongue.

The nod it stiff. 

I want our goodbye to be a bit more. 

Selfish

I walk out and spend the rest of my day in bed.

When night comes around, Lucio video calls me..

I tell him about the fall, about my visit with the doc. He passes his sympathies, knowing it wasn’t easy. We just share a look after a bit and change the subject. Back to complaining about the shite rations, the sand in his boots. 

We stay up together ‘til his gaffer tells him lights out.

I am so drained when I finally drift into sleep.

 

* * *

Today is a new day, up early, one last run with my kids. My knee is still sights me a bit, but I push through. 

It’s a nice, quiet run.

They visit me in the loading bay as we wait to get on the heliplane. We just talk about random things like the best way to cook potatoes. 

It’s not the same, but it’s comforting. 

Each step up the ramp is heavy, I don’t quite want to leave but I certainly don’t want to stay on this base anymore. Put on a face, I turn to my little squad and wave. 

They wave back.

On the far side of the bay, I see Angela standing next to the door, eyes watching me. My heart still leaps at the sight of her. 

It’s okay.

_ Is it crazy for someone to make me so happy and so sad at the same time? _

I give her a big smile, for the last time, and a two finger salute.

She smiles and gives me a two finger salute.

For the last time. 

The seat is hard and uncomfortable, the straps nothing like my harness. They make me feel trapped, bound to this fate. 

The door closes

The plane takes off

And so I’m gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little more about myself. Yes, kind of a self insert, Lena's whole ark with Mercy is based on my own little endeavor into love. Yes, I am Lena, yes Lucio's story half true, yes. But it was good, and I hope this works. It's kind how I write, hope you guys enjoy it as it develops.


	8. Mongolia

It’s bloody cold in Mongolia.

When we land, there’s a little welcome party for us, complete with a little festival and everything. Seems like they really like Overwatch around here. It’s good for the morale, we’re smiles by the time we make it to the watchpoint to actually set up. 

A lot of the prep has been done for us, my shipment was mostly just to bolster numbers rather than to almost completely repopulate an old watchpoint like Lucio’s. 

It’s only the third day when my commander, Pardenilla, has a recon mission set up for me in the heart of Mongolia’s capital, Ulaanbaatar.

A lone scouting mission, two weeks in the field to look into Talon leads. 

She’s seems to have thought this through, giving me a couple of agents to follow up with and the location of a handful of safe houses if things got dicey. Even gave me a parka that fit over my accelerator so I’m not some obvious walking glow-stick. 

It’ll be fine, I guess, strange to be on one of these things again after running as a flanker on most missions. She tells me not to use my communicator during the mission, preferring me to drop a data chip of my reports in a predetermined place each night. 

I’m only to call her if there’s an emergency.

Now that has me on edge. 

But that’s how it goes, and the next day I’m on a train headed towards the biggest city in Mongolia.

 

* * *

 

 

I lay on the hard mattress of the motel I’m staying in tonight, fingers tapping away at the monotonous report I have to pull out of my ass. 

It doesn’t feel quite right, this whole recon trip. I never was quite fond of them, not even quite good at them. I was a trained to be a pilot, turned skirmisher; but with my ability to move quickly and slip away at a moment's notice, the higher ups found me a good candidate. 

Boring meetings with informants, a few pick ups of stashed away files and chips, it’s thrill ye, but it just feels a bit…

I dunno, empty?

I look out the foggy window, the heater in my room frosting over the chilled glass. Though it’s been a long day, I get the urge to get out and stretch my legs. Right, the report, well I do have to drop it off in this flowerpot when I’m done.

By the time I finish it, my mind is fried and I hit the bunk the second I come back.

 

* * *

 

Tosh am I glad for this parka, thing’s friggin’ warm. 

The bench is chilly against my bum but I don’t really mind, it’s nice to just sit back a bit and watch the outside world just bustle by. Although it’s midnight, the streets are still bright and alive with people of all ages in colorful winterwear. The park I’m sitting in has this frozen over pond and even at this hour, there’s a group of lads skating around racing each other.

They’ve got a boombox going, playing one of Lucio’s songs. 

Makes me miss the bloke.

I told him as much as I was allowed to; Ulaanbaatar, no comms, if he don’t hear back from me in 2 weeks then I’m dead. The usual. They’ve got him at the front trying to calm the riots in Mexico, using his status and people skills to their advantage. 

We’re doing good work, at least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

Course they don’t tell us everything, sometimes I’m glad they don’t. I’ve seen captain Amari’s face after mission reports. She’s sad, told me that she’s tired of the job, but it’s a burden she’s willing to carry so others don’t have to.

Said she has a daughter, think I saw her once around the Swiss base checking out the planes.

Yeah, Fareeha Amari, always asking me what it was like to fly.

She should be 19 now if remember correctly, wonder if she’s got her own set of wings?

I let out a sigh and rub the weariness off my eyes, a yawn overpowering my mouth. Really should head back now. I try to stand and nearly buckle to the ground, foot angry with pain.

Shite, right, the scuffle at the bakery.

Agent gone rogue, pretended to have info and instead tried to nab me. He kept shoutin’ about Overwatch being corrupt, that Talon was doing the world a favor by destroying them. 

Had me real shaken up it did, like he was really trying to convince me, like I was the one who was wrong.

Authorities took him away, I called it in, Pardenilla said she’ll take care of it. 

I limp my way back to the fancy hotel for this night. My foot throbs, nothing broken, just a seething bruise from where he slammed his foot down. Weird not to have Angela’s nanobots to make everything better just like that.

I sit on the bed, staring out the window. An extra month added to the mission, commander said, to check in with the other agents and then off to the next town for another month.

Again, not comms, try to lay as low as possible.

Don’t feel right 

But we’re all good people just trying to do what’s right

 

* * *

 

 

Pardenilla knows about my meds, has a refill waiting for me when I get to Darhan. 

I look at the still half full bottle I had brought along on the trip. I know I shouldn’t, but...I haven’t been taking them ever since arriving in Mongolia. They don’t make me feel right, a little funny in the head. 

And I need to keep in tip-top shape if I want to keep ahead of these traitors, right?

And I know better, I know they’re supposed to help but…

I stare out the window of the taxi, it’s louder here but in a different sense. Whole place seems to just be factories. Not many people, mostly workers milling about.

The air is biting and dry, had a couple nasty nosebleeds, got to the point where I’ve been sticking jelly up there to help. It’s no fun waking up to a faceful of blood. 

Don’t really know how I feel, it’s a bit like floating, a bit not. 

Just a whole lot of nothing. 

I’ve got a job to do, another room to sleep in, more things to gather and move, more blasted reports.

I miss them, even Reyes, working alone ain’t fun.

 

* * *

 

 

I can’t take it, I’m going nutters

Another two agents, a week apart from each other, both trying something funny when I meet up with them. Same spiel of ‘down with Overwatch long live Talon’ shite.

The fuck is going on?

I ask the commander if I’m the only one, if we’re losing people who aren’t quick enough to get away from these cabbages. She doesn’t answer, tells me to focus on the mission.

Bollocks, so mad right now, hate this, hate this mission, hate everything.

I go for a run in the dead of night, don’t care about the danger, don’t know where I’m going, I just gotta feel the burn in my lungs.

After that, I start carrying my pistol on me. 

 

* * *

 

 

I sit alone in the tea shop, nursing a warm cup of..something? It’s green, hot, a bit salty. I think it’s a tea that they grabbed salt for instead of sugar. 

But it’s warm on a cold afternoon and it’s actually not all that bad. 

The lady keeps look my way, pretty thing, around my age I think. She keeps smiling, coming by asking if I want to try one of their sweets. I decline, I got someone to meet at a bar in half an hour. 

Her face falls and she doesn’t bother me after that. 

 

* * *

 

 

The file says a school but the place is empty and oh so creepy. Supposed to meet one ‘Kernel’, but it’s ten minutes past the time and still nothing. 

As I’m leaving, ready to mark it off as a no show and call it in, I find him, a stripped naked with a bullet in the head. 

I call it in.

A tragedy

 

* * *

 

 

Two days left, just two days and I get to go back to the watchpoint. I’ll get to actually talk to people, settle in a bit, decorate my room. 

Call my friends

Another report, another troublesome agent. 

She gets pretty far. 

“Tracer?” 

Short bleached hair, a strong chin, a bit older than me.

“Hedge?” it’s an odd callsign, but then again, I don’t really know why I named myself after a French word of all things. 

The woman smiles, going in for a hug. She looks relieved to see me, it’s not uncommon though, lotta informants we use are street rats that need the money we dole out for their gossip. I’m in a good mood so I humor her.

I know what got me; her damned eyes blue and sharp. Just like Angela’s. 

But I trust her, letting her lead me into her little apartment. Let her pour me a cup of that salty green tea, let her chat me up, asking about my mission. I just give her the basics, nothing more than what I’ve told Lucio. 

She’s a damn good actor, feigning sympathy when I tell her about a few of other informants jumping me. 

And like that, we’re snogging, her hands are under my shirt, palming my breasts. Her lips are hot against my skin and I’m on my back on her bed. It all rushes back, how lonely I am, the isolation, the sting of betrayal when I go in for a handshake and they go for a gun.

But she’s different, ye? File says she’s been with us for years, longer than me. We’re just two lonely people looking for a little company.

Her hands hesitate at the anchor in my chest, her eyes get all sad. I tell her it’s alright, that it don’t hurt. She kisses it, kisses around it, touches the skin ugly with scars. 

First time anyone’s done it. 

Feels real nice, no one’s ever really paid much attention to it. Like it’s some big taboo thing, and that works usually; one night stands don’t make for good listeners to deep, tragic backstories. 

I think this time is different, more than just a shag, maybe something a bit of something we chat over dinner. 

And then she finds the pistol tucked into the back of my pants.

And then I feel it press against the skin right next to my anchor. 

The skin she had just been kissing, whispering that I’m still beautiful and everything I’ve been aching to hear. 

And then it clicks why she went in for a hug, to see if I had my accelerator on. 

The softness in her eyes is gone, they’re sharp now, angry, hurt like I had hurt her. Maybe Overwatch had hurt her.

“What’s wrong, love?” I ask her, genuinely worried that this pattern is not random, that something's really wrong. 

“You’re what’s wrong. he told us everything, Lena, about the experiments, about the soldiers ‘not making it through the operation.’ We can’t let it continue, Talon is going stop Overwatch and their sick research.”

It’s the first time any of them has said more than a sentence before trying to kill me. 

She really does believe this, there’s the same fire in her eyes. She believes that she’s fighting for the people. 

We’re all good people just trying to do what’s right

“So what now?” There’s no fear in my voice, I am tired, really am. Maybe I should let her end it for me, too much drama for my taste.

“Help us. You know her, you can get close to her and stop it before things get out of hand. Don’t let it become like the omnics.” It’s personal to her, to this ‘Hedge’. 

I don’t fight for Angela, I don’t fight for Morrison or even Overwatch. I fight to make the world better, to be the hero that people need when the baddies are at the door. This right here isn’t my fight.

“Sorry, love, I can’t do that.” I don’t care if it’s not what they taught me what to say in these situations; to lie so the other drops their guard. I don’t have the energy to put up another face, all I can offer her is a sad smile and the truth.

“Then you’re one of them.”

In a flash, I bring my hands up and shove the barrel away from my chest. Pain sears through my shoulder but I’m already numb and high on adrenaline. Numb when I buck her off of me, numb when we fight for the pistol.

Numb with it fires into her neck. 

Blood paints the pictures above her bed, scenes of her with friends, family, a pet dog. She was a person with a life. It’s not the first person I’ve killed.

I can hear the sirens in the distance.

I call it in before they arrive. 

She tells me I’ve done well, that she’s glad I’m still alive. 

Sure

‘Alive’

It hurts, but I’m used to it. 

The paramedics say it’s a through and through, a bit of medigel and it’ll heal right up. They offer to treat me at the hospital but I wave them off so they do the stitches right there. Overwatch perks I guess.

It’s almost morning when I get back to my room.

For the first time in almost two months, I take a pill.

Two more days


	9. Egypt 1 of 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be one giant monster chapter, but with the smut in the middle, i decided to separate it so it's easier for people to avoid the raunchy bit if they'd like. Also, it's disgustingly sweet cause i feel bad for all the angst. A bit more romance than i intended but i just it just sorta snowballed that way.

“Trace, hey eh. Hold on, I’ve got ya, man.”

Hands, movement, something warm plastering, soaking into my jacket. I whimper, throbbing pain in my face, chest, arms. 

Blimey 

Bloody, fuckin-

Whoever carrying me isn’t running, the steps are too smooth, almost like swaying, swimming, dancing. There’s a catchy upbeat tune playing next to my ear. It helps, but I can still feel jagged metal dig deeper into my flesh with every bounce.

“Mercy, I’m coming in hot, Trace is hurt bad.” A pause “Real bad.”

How….Didn’t I just go to bed?

I hone in on my ears, nothing out of my left one, only the music sounds in the one pressed up against whoever’s chest this is. My lips taste copper, hot, bitter.

Who? 

He holds me closer, I let out a soft cry as something digs into my face. Arms ease me back off.

“Shit, shit. Ah shit.” It sounds so familiar. I know him, see his face and his colorful dreads, whizzing about, helping. 

A smile to heal the hurt.

Nameless

“You’re gon’ be alright, Trace, Mercy will patch you right up.” 

I wait for the pulling, for the darkness, for this vision to end. 

Is that what I’ve become? Denying reality whenever it gets rough?

It’s a dream right? It’s always a dream. This isn’t real.

There is no pulling, but I feel weightless. Calm, my hands let go of his shirt and dangle free. The end, yeah? Just like Gabriel said.

Peace

“Don’t you dare.” 

Breathe, In

Out

Ragged and wet

Warmth bubbles up and spills from the corner of my lips.

“Lucio!”

Ah, that’s his name

We turn a sharp corner and skid to a halt, another pair of arms carefully lift me up and set me down on a hard surface. I can feel the pool of blood already forming beneath me. A hiss that for some reason spurs hope in my ruptured chest, my body feels numb and light.

“Go, I’ve got it from here.” Mercy, the voice makes me think of sunlight, mountains and flowers.

A mouse

Brown haze

_ A man in a black coat and a mask. _

“Thanks doc.” 

Hands move to my face, removing my goggles. She mutters something.

“ _ Verzeihung(pardon),  _ this is going to hurt.” 

My mind goes blank, mouth opening wide in a strangled scream. She eases me back down onto the surface, my right shoulder throbbing. How didn’t I notice it earlier?

Angry shards are pulled from my face, their wounds sealing up the moment the debris is cleared. It gets easier to draw in air, whatever that hissing is, it’s magic. I want to see her, this angel called ‘Mercy’. I bet she’s pretty, bet she’s kind and loving and-

A tremor rocks the building.

A tingle in the back of my head

“Mercy,” There’s a radio somewhere, a gravelly voice calling forth. “Frontline is in shambles, Lucio can’t keep up. We need you out here or we’ll lose this thing.” 

Her hands don’t stop. They work faster, something drips onto my cheek. It stings. She stays silent. Working.

“Mercy!” The radio cracks

“Jack, I’ve got Tracer here, I can’t-”

She’s crying, I can hear it but she doesn’t let any more tears fall on me. 

_ Angela, always trying so hard to save everyone. _

“This mission cannot fail.” 

The words drive a stake through my heart. He’s forcing her. Through the pain, I bring my hand up and somehow blindly catch her hand. My lips press against her knuckles. It feels so right.

“Go on love, save the day.” I smile at the darkness. 

I know what I signed up for. 

Her hand clenches into a fist. A second passes, two, the hissing stops.

The pain comes back like a truck. 

Dying, that’s what I’m doing.

A gathering of things, hands cup my face.

Warm lips press against my cheek.

“I’ll be back for you,  _ hase.”   _

It hurts

But I’m used to it

I smile, maybe to an empty room, maybe she catches it. 

A minute passes without a sound and I figure that I’m now alone; blind and half deaf. My fingertips go numb, throat tight.

Here we go.

My hand settles to my chest as I wait for it. Back in my bed, drenched in sweat, a nightmare. Another realm. Dread swells, I palm my front, searching, feeling nothing.

Smooth leather, the uniform of a pilot. 

No harness

No anchor

Then how am I feeling the pull?

In all directions

Down

_ Down _

“Angela!”  

 

* * *

I bolt, relief and panic, hands clutching the cylinder in my chest. 

A dream, yeah, all a dream. 

Chest heaves, cold sweat, blankets pooled around my waist. 

I’m not alone.

“Tracer, that you?” 

A voice in the darkness. I’m back, here, at the watchpoint. How long have I been back?

“Yeah, just a bad dream. Sorry, love.” My hands are shaking, my feet don’t want to carry my weight but I stand all the same. “Gon’ go for a walk in the yard, be back in a few.” 

She murmurs something along the lines of ‘stay safe’ before rolling away and falling back asleep. The air is warm and stale, feels a bit different. 

I gather my thoughts, my memories as I walk down the hall. 

Pardenilla wanted me to stay another month in Darhan, I said no, she threatened treason, I don’t know what came over me. I was just so angry that she was letting this happen, letting me waltz around in the dark in a room full of landmines. Nearly cursed her out I did.

But instead, I told her about my meds, how they’re not working, another angle. She was reluctant, obviously peeved but allowed me to return back to the watchpoint. She made me call Mercy the moment I got back in the comm room.

It was...awkward to say the least. 

Only 2 minutes in and she made Pardenilla leave the room, Patient Confidentiality. I cried, I broke, a broken woman, a shell.

We talked for hours, of my mission, of random things. Of the dreams and anything I could think of. She told me about life back on the base, how things are settling down. Reyes is almost like his old self, smiles and jokes, had everyone on edge at first but now, he’s like a new man. 

It’s nice to just talk, I hadn’t done much of it for the last 2 months. She changed my prescription, now two pills; one in the morning one at night. Said it’ll help with the dreams, and scolded me for not taking them during the mission.

It’s soft, more of a concerned friend, she cares. I give her respect, must be hard to do her job, and when she get’s too close with her patients.

Am I hurting her? Maybe it would’ve been best that we didn’t try. 

But it’s a bit too late for ‘what if’.’

I’m better now. 

I breath in the cold air of the yard, looking up at the brilliant sky. The watchpoint is a bit away from the city so we can actually see stars down here. They make me feel small, like I don’t matter in the big scheme of things, shining grains of sand suspended in a sea of black.

It’s not bad a bad thing, keeps me grounded.

I look down at my wrist.

Keeps me here.

 

* * *

“Trace! Trace! Tell me you read the next posting.”

Lucio’s voice blasts through my comm the moment I answer it. I had been ringing him for the last few days with no answer, he must’ve been on an assignment. 

I do as he says, looking over my squad’s newest posting.

“Pardenilla, Nguyen, Ashan squads; Cario, Egypt.”

Bloody Hell

Nguyen is Lucio’s commander.

“Am I reading this right?! Lucio, Lucio!” 

“Hell yeah Trace! We’re gonna cause  _ all _ the trouble in Egypt. Man, I am so stoked!”

I’m laughing and smiling and jumping around like an idiot in the yard at 4pm. My chest feels too light for my body. Happy, feels like I haven’t felt it in ages. 

After 7 months in Mongolia, I’ll finally get to see my best mate again. 

We talk for a couple hours until I have to go in for mess. He tells me of the little trinkets he’s got for me, I promise him packets of the salty green tea that I kind of like now. 

It’s great, life is good, I can’t stop smiling.

 

* * *

I get there before him, giving me time to scout around. 

It’s dusty, hot, dry, my lips are already chapped but I’m too happy to care, cause in one day, he’ll be here. They don’t tell us how long we’ll be stationed here so we’ll make everyday count. 

The food has taste again, the sun is warm on my skin, well, before it starts to burn.

Sunblock will be my best friend here. 

Yes, yes, I can’t wait. 

 

* * *

I lay in bed, too excited to sleep, too scared to calm down. Nothing’s going to happen to his transport, forget it. The universe can suck it, we can have little pockets of happy, right?

 

* * *

The morning comes, the heliplane touches down, Lucio is safe and above all  _ here. _

“Lucio!”

I shout over the hum of the engines, bouncing from foot to foot. My cheeks hurt already, giddy, floating, no  _ soaring, _ my lad. 

The others give me strange looks but I know they’re jealous, who wouldn’t want someone so excited to see you again, to make you feel like you matter. Bit of pity for them, no one can take away the friendship we have. 

The door opens

And he’s here.

“Lena!” 

He’s beaming his infectious smile. A sight for sore eyes. The commanders have to do their little greeting thing before he can run right out, slamming into me with full force plus the added weight of his duffle bag.

Feels like everything is right in the world. May not be love, but blimey if I can have this all the time, could be darn close. 

They have to settle in, I have a post to patrol, we hug, a fistbump, reconnect for a moment. I know the perfect table for us to sit at during afternoon mess. 

 

* * *

For the next three days, we don’t leave each other's sides except for assignments. We chat about the little things, the big things. He introduces me to his new ‘lad’.

“Murcat.” It’s a callsign, but it doesn’t really matter. When no one’s looking and it’s just us three, I see Lucio brush against his hand, lean on his chest when he laughs, Murcat playing keep away with his hairband. 

It’s disgusting and cute. But they’re happy and I’m happy for them.

We get leave that weekend, heading into town for a sorely needed drink or five. It isn’t long that we’re bar hopping and Lucio is signing an autograph here and there. But it get’s us free drinks so we don’t mind sparing the time. 

We end up at a sports bar a ways off from the watchpoint, everyone looking at the tele streaming some local basketball game. Not much of basketball fan myself, preferred vollyball, much more...intense.

The bar erupts with cheers, with only a few seconds left on the clock, the home team takes a risky shot from half court and puts the game into overtime. There’s a brief pause as a timeout is called and I excuse myself to use the loo. 

Dingy water closet, smells like death and puke but I get in and do my business. 

On the way out, I see her in one of the back booths, sitting there with square shoulders, watching the people at the bar discuss the latest play of the game. I don’t recognize her at first, but she looks at me and does a little wave.

Strong nose, dark skin, midnight hair, brown eyes that could shoot me dead. 

Tosh, she looks just like her mother.

“Tracer.” She greets politely, watching over her drink as I slide into the seat facing her. 

“Fareeha! Blimey, you grew up quick.” It’s true, she was my height when she visited the base.

“Please, call me Pharah around my squad.” Her voice isn’t biting, more firm, as if uncomfortable to be called her real name. 

She motions to the group of men and women crowded around Murcat and Lucio, looks like an arm wrestling match. They all look to be a bit older, two of them at least in their late 30’s.

“Well they ain’t over here right now are they, love?” I give her a wink, heart stinging as she just raises an eyebrow, unfazed. Great, she grew up to be one of them boring folk. “Alright, well, you can call me whatever you’d like,  _ Pharah _ .” 

It’s not too far off from her name, but hey, if it’s what she wants, it’s what she wants. 

The barmaid comes by and drops off two pints of a dark, bitter ale, saying my friend with the dreads sent it over. I wave salute and he goes back to watching the game, hand intertwined with Murcat’s. 

We fall into an easy conversation after a few mouthfuls. Pharah had joined the army the moment she turned 18, much to the dismay of her mother. The way she talks about her, it’s totally different from the Amari we know on the base. She must have it tough, I think back to my mum and how she was so happy when I wanted to be a pilot. 

But Pharah says she’ll join Overwatch one day, after she’s done her tour in Egypt to prep herself. She’s already talked to Morrison about joining. Only thing standing in the way is her mother.

Me, after the drinks I’ve had and a little gentle coaxing, tell her about my family. I haven’t told anyone except for Lucio, and everyone else kind of just  _ knows _ for one reason or another. It’s easy, flows, we swap stories of the field, silly drunken antics with our squads. 

I didn’t expect to talk to her for as long as I did but soon the game is over, home team winning by a hair, and the two lovebirds come over to our booth with the rest of Pharah’s squad.

“Ready to go, Amari?” 

She stiffens at the name, I can see her hand twitch against the pint glass in her hand. Wordlessly, she just nods and finishes off the beer. 

“It’s been nice talking with you, Tracer.” 

“Back at you, love!” Their group walks out, jeering at the one mate that rooted from the other team. She just walks beside them, quiet with a small smile. 

Murcat and Lucio fall into a banter as we make our way back to the watchpoint.

“Totally not a penalty, man!” 

“He kicked the ball,  _ sheereen _ (my sweet). With his foot…”

I smile and I’m floating again, hovering, but here. The air is warm and I’m still sweating in my tank top and shorts. My fingertips tingle like they’ve been dipped in cold water, head to light for my shoulders. And I’m watching them drunkenly giggle into each other’s necks, little kisses here, a brush of the hand there.

They have the right to be happy

 

* * *

Pardenilla has me running messages for the next couple days all around Cairo, easy stuff, some rendezvous with informants but she has Lander come with me for those. The only time I see Lucio is early in the morning and right before lights out. 

I get pretty good at it, files are dropped out, a people paid, I stop a handful of muggings. Nothing goes terribly wrong but I still keep my pistol tucked into the back of my pants. 

There’s this girl I see in the marketplace every morning when I make my rounds. She’s always setting up her little fruit stand, sweeping the dust off her counter tops. It’s really no use though, the stuff’s sort of everywhere. 

By the fifth day, she’s waiting with two little plastic bags and waves me over. 

I have half a mind to keep going, it’s dangerous after all and I’m obviously part of overwatch with the big shiny thing on my chest and patch on my arm. But I do it anyways, cause life is short and her smile is dazzling.

“Hiya.” I smile, expecting her to try to sell me something, or maybe just have questions about Overwatch and the such.

“ _ fursa sa'ida _ (pleased to meet you), my name is Zandra, what’s yours?”

Blimey, her smile’s even prettier up close. I quickly recompose myself, this is entirely unprofessional.

“Tracer, or Trace, either one, love.” 

Just be polite before walking away, then go on with your day and never walk down the route ever again. 

“Tracer,” She says as if testing it out on her tongue, “French?”

Wow, didn’t think she’d know that. 

“Kind of? It’s a long story.” I’m getting all nervous, my heart pittering in my chest. I can’t do this, can’t think about this now, not when she’s looking down at me with those honey colored eyes. 

I’m about to spit out a farewell and blink away before she extends one of the baggies.

“Would you like some figs?”

This will make it easier.

“No thanks, I actually-”

As smooth as silk, she pulls that one back and places the other one into my hands with a wink. 

“Well then, how about a date?”

Oh

Bloody hell

That was smooth

I fumble, face as hot as the sand. My the ground looks mighty interesting. 

“I, uh, fuck, yeah.” I look up to her, for moment there’s a nervous quiver in her smile. My confidence finishes it’s reboot. The girl is nice, a tiny scar on her neck, wickedly on point eyebrows, hair in a ponytail and oh shite I am staring.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” I look down at the little bag she handed me, it’s literally a bag of dates with a card tied to it; her name and a line of numbers scribbled on it’s face. “I’ll buzz ya, tonight?”

She giggles and it sends my heart into a nosedive. 

“I look forward to it,  _ Tracer. _ ”

Might be my callsign but the way she just purred it, think i’m gonna die from heat exhaustion soon. I hurry away, tucking the parcel into the sack on my back.

My lips pull back, sand gets in my teeth but hell.

I’m so happy right now.

 

* * *

“I ain’t even mad, that was smooooth.” Lucio quips as I tell him and Murcat at evening mess. I haven’t stopped smiling all day and my face is starting to cramp up. 

The sack of dates sits almost empty between the three of us. If anything, I got an impressively good bag of fruit.

I wonder what her day was like, does she go anywhere after her shift at the fruit stand. Is it her family’s, just a job to get through life? Siblings, favorite color, wanna try this salty green tea I got from Mongolia?

It’s 19:45 when I finally make it through a few strat chats and into the privacy of my quarters. 

Flopping down on my cot, I pull out my phone and ring up the number she had written on the card. I’m glad that my bunk mate has graveyard patrol tonight. 

It rings once

The jitters make me think of when I was in high school, ringing up that girl in biology. 

It rings twice

Like a kid, anxious but a little sweet.

It rings three times

Bollocks, course shouldn’t have thought she would pick up on the first call. This probably isn’t even her number. Do I even get international calling with this phone?

“ _ Ahlan _ (hello)! This is Zandra Salam!” 

Her voice is cheery but a little strained. I freeze up, oh shite, I should’ve thought about what to say.

“Evening, love, it’s Tracer from this morning.” 

It feels a bit strange, when I meet new people, it’s usually in Overwatch and a lot more formal; or in a bar a lot less sober. We dance around the introductions, I tell her to just call me ‘Tracer’ for safety reasons. She says she understands.

“My mother used to be in the air force. I used to fly with her.”

It makes me like her even more. Longing, a bit sad that we’ll probably never fly together with my condition. But who am I kidding, don’t even know if I know like little Miss ‘how about a date’. 

Still can’t get over how well she played that.

The things we chat about are light, carefree. We both hate cook celery, tea is best served hot, and we can smell how bad asparagus makes our piss.

Seriously, we hold nothing back as we just talk into the night. It’s fun, engaging and I just can’t get enough of her giggling. By the time lights out is called, I’ve dropped my phone too many times to count and my throat is raw from bad impersonations. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

There's a tint of hopefulness in her voice that makes my heart leap.

“You can count on it.”

I look out the windows and see the brightly lit city. To think that every one of those lights, or at least most of them, is person. And Maybe, one of those is Zandra’s light.

I’m a sap. I know.

“G’night, love.”

“Until tomorrow, ‘Tracer’ of Overwatch.”

 

* * *

I meet her outside her store same time the next morning. I have the cheekiest grin on my face, ready to deliver the joke I spent all morning thinking of.

“Hey, Zandra, I noshed on those dates, they reminded me of you.” I flash her a pair of finger guns and a wink, “nice and sweet.”

She slaps her forehead and we laugh until our sides hurt.

Our morning greetings are short and delightful. I find myself thinking about them more and more each morning, Lucio even pointed out the extra bounce in my step. It’s great, we promise to have a double date with him and Murcat. 

 

* * *

The days go by, becoming weeks and eventually months.

Pardenilla has me on messenger duty in the morning, giving me a steady opportunity for both of us to spend the start of our days with each other. On the off days when my deliveries are on the other side of town or something of the sort; we just buzz to share a few quips. 

When her schedule permits, she returns my calls or sometimes even beats me to the punch and rings me. 

We talk about the skies, where we’ve flow, how beautiful the water looks when high above. She’s taking an engineering class in the evening after her shifts at the shop.

“I run the store with my father. My two brothers tend to the farm with my uncle. My mother…”

We share something in common and drop the subject for another time.

She sends me pictures of her family and about 20 of just her cat, Cleo; sleek, black with eyes and ears too big for its face. I send her photos of Lucio and my friends back at the Swiss base. She doesn’t push when I’m hesitant to talk about my family. 

 

* * *

It takes three weeks of planning for the three of us to get leave together for a Friday night. 

Murcat looks absolutely adorable with a proper, checkered shirt and jeans. Lucio next to him has button up with the sleeves rolled up and the nicest pair of slacks I’ve ever seen him wear. 

“Well don’t you two look dashing.”

“Hey, you’re the one wearing a bowtie.” 

I’m actually quite protective of my orange necktie, it’s my little good luck charm. 

I’m fidgeting the whole cab ride over to the address Zandra had given me. The car stops in front of a towering apartment complex and I rush up the stairs after punching in the code she had sent me.

My palms are sweaty as I adjust my bowtie one more time and ring the bell next to the door. I can hear the pounding in my ears growing louder with the approaching footsteps.

Tosh, I’ve seen this woman every morning for the last month and a half, I shouldn’t be this nervous to see her twice in a day.

But I’m not in my uniform, I’m in a white dress shirt and black slacks and my lucky bowtie. Right now, I’m not ‘Tracer’ of Overwatch, I’m Lena Oxton from Britain.

And right now, Lena Oxton pissing her pants. 

The door unlocks, a stern faced man peeks out from the crack. He has a head of snow white hair and wrinkles on his tanned skin. The tie feels like it’s gotten much tighter when I take a nervous gulp. 

“Evening! I’m here for, uh, Zandra Salam?” 

The sweat is like a waterfall on the back of my neck. It must be her father, I recognize him in the pictures, but her looks a whole lot scarier with a good 15 cm on me. His eyebrow raises before a second of recognition and a smile on his face.

“You must the French girl she keeps telling me about.”

His entire demeanor does a 180, oozing out warmth. I nervously chuckle, as welcoming as he is, I’m not French. Maybe I got the wrong address. 

“ _ Ab _ (father), I said the name is French, not her.” There’s the chuckle that never fails to bring a smile to my face and ease the anxiety of my heart. 

He steps aside and she comes out from around the corner. My jaw nearly drops when I see the navy blue sun dress she’s wearing with little accents of gold. I just stand still as she does the customary kiss on the cheeks greeting to me. I’ve never seen her out of her stained overalls at the shop.

There’s a smug smirk on her lips when she pulls away and turns back to her father.

“I’ll be back later tonight, if something comes up, call me.” I let her guide me out with a hand on my lower back, the touch spreading fire to my brain. 

My face must be so red right now, my ears must be red too. Piss, I bet she can feel how much I’m sweating through my shirt. I wasn’t prepared to see her like this; hair down in gentle waves for the first time, tanned shoulders bare and toned from a life of farm work and lifting crates. 

Think I might faint, how bad would it look if I just crumpled to the floor right now. Lucio would never let me live it down; ‘Hey! Remember the time you fainted after seeing how hot your girlfriend was?’

Warm lips briefly press against my heated forehead. I blink, not even realizing that we’re standing in front of the lift. Looking up, she’s smiling with amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“Bollocks.” 

She laughs, I can’t stop the smile from creeping onto my face. 

Her hand is warm and feels so right in mine.

 

* * *

The night is one of the best I’ve had in a long time. Zandra picked out a hole in the wall restaurant with the this spicy tomato, rice, pasta thing; best one in all of Cairo she says. She tries to get us to say it correctly which results in Lucio snorting out a few grains of rice at hearing me try to say it.

“Coal sherry?” 

Zandra makes me stop after the fifth time, snickering that the owner will throw us out for disgracing the dish he slaved over. I secretly practice it in the loo when she walks in and catches me chanting it as I piss.

She doesn’t let me live it down for the rest of the night. 

 

* * *

“Tonight was wonderful.” 

Oh, oh, this. I should’ve thought about this. 

The entire date came easy, especially with Lucio there. But now the I’m alone with her, one door down from her flat, my hands tingling. I feel like I’ve been on an adrenaline rush for the last three hours, actually, the last three weeks when we first made the plans. 

“Cheers, I had a great time too.” 

We’re facing each other now like some cliche teen rom-com. She stands even taller than me now in her modest heels. I can smell her perfume, little undertones of sweet fruit. I try my best to hide how much of a nervous wreck I am. 

In a daze, I feel her calloused hand softly cup the my face, tilting it up to meet her eyes. She leans in close, whispering centimeters from my lips. 

“This is the part where you kiss me.” 

It’s not perfect, not by a long shot. But my stubbornness rears it’s head when she playfully nips at my bottom lip. So I nip back and a battle of teeth and hushed snickering begins, ending with us a bit breathless and smiling. 

Before she can recover, I raise up and plant a proper kiss on her painted lips.

“See you tomorrow, love.” 

She wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into a hug, kissing me again. 

“ _ Tisbahin ala khayr ahlam sa'ida _ .(sweet dreams)” 

I don’t know what she says, it’s bloody hot.

“I, uh, back at you.”

A chuckle, she opens her front door and waves at me one last time.

“Sweet dreams.”

“G’night.” 

The door shuts behind her. I sprint to the elevator and the moment the doors slide close, a cheer erupts from my lungs. I feel like I’m soaring above the clouds, so high, so happy, I can take on the world. 

 

* * *

We actually have time to sit and chat this morning; my first task in an hour and a half around at a fabric shop around the corner. The table itself is a bit tacky with obvious signs of wear but it serves its purpose as a surface for our tea.

“I don’t know what to make of the taste.” 

She rolls the drink I got from Mongolia around on her tongue.

“I know right? It’s like milky and salty and kind of weird but kind of makes you wanna keep drinking it.” 

I take a sip of the warm beverage she had given me; sweet and hot, just the way I like my tea. It reminds me of Old Blighty. I take a glance around the small shop, it’s just box after box of fresh fruits and a section of dried ones. It’s empty at the moment but from what she tells me, most of the fresh stuff I see will be sold before noon. 

“I need to find a type of machinery to do my final presentation on. I’ve already done omnics and hardlight. I’ll probably spend hours tonight scouring the cloud for experimental tech I can research.” 

She says a bit worriedly, her fingers lazily playing with mine. They’re rougher than mine, a few burn marks on her fingers. I’ve memorized them by now. Lighthearted, I point to my chest with a smirk.

“If you’re in need of a muse, I’m available.” I wag my eyebrows, waiting for her to giggle.

But instead, she lights up and clasps my hand tightly in hers. 

“That’s perfect! I would love to do my report on chronal distortion technology.” 

The color drains a bit from my face. Where I was trying to be funny and a bit crass and point to my bits, she saw me pointing to my accelerator. Oh boy, what did I just get myself into.

But it sounds fun, I’ve never heard of an actual study done of what’s stuck in my chest. Besides, seeing the fire in her eyes, the excitement in her voice; how can I say no?

 

* * *

And so begins a two month long game of phone tag, emails, and conference calls with Winston, Angela, and an arseload of other brainies who worked on the  _ Slipstream _ and my anchor. The first hurdle was getting Morrison to approve of the project, which he did so surprisingly quickly and without fuss. He tells us that it’ll be good for Overwatch’s public appearance and in the end, ‘we would love to share the knowledge we have with the next generation of great thinkers.’

I suspect that Winston talked to him

I help her contact a few Overwatch engineers through our comms and soon we build ourselves a network of people in and out of the organization. After the first month, Amari makes a public statement on Overwatch reaching out to the community, starting with a sharp young girl in Cairo, Egypt. It’s personal to the captain.

The calls for interviews begin to flood in. 

I lounge back on the living room couch of Zandra’s apartment, Cleo curled up peacefully against my stomach. The list of conference requests is never ending, we’ve even got a bot now to automatically reply to them that we won’t be doing any until after the official presentation. 

My presence in her flat officially sanctioned for my evening assignments as a ‘community liaison’. 

Title’s all piss and wind but I’m not complaining. 

Bored eyes drift from the holo in my hands to Zandra who is hanging onto every detail Winston is giving her about some matrix doodad. I’ve stopped trying to keep up with the tech jargon that flies out of their mouths. She is leaned up at the foot of the couch I’m on, furiously typing away notes to his explanations. The way her fingers fly across the keys, eyes twinkle and nods of understanding. It’s incredible, she’s already filled up two data chips of just notes. 

I wonder if I was this eager to learn how to pilot.

She stands up from her spot between the couch and the coffee table, planting a quick kiss on my lips.

“I’ll be right back,  _ habibi _ (darling)”

I watch her backside as she walks towards the kitchen. I swear she’s swaying her hips like that on purpose. 

I glance over to the monitor and see the big oaf flashing his ivories at me, looking all smug. Heat rises to my cheeks, he probably caught me staring. 

“Oi, what’s so funny?” 

He chuckles, wish he was here right now but this is the next best thing. 

“Nothing. She’s a clever girl. I am pleased to see you happy, Lena.”

My heart swells at the tone of approval, it’s the first time he’s commented on our relationship. There’s humming that drifts through the hallway, the clinking of glass. Soon, she’s singing softly to herself and the corners of my lips tugs up. I must have a dopey smile on my face right now.

“Yeah. Thanks, love” 

Another moment, she turns the corner with a two tall glasses of amber liquid. Zandra takes one look at my face and playfully raises an eyebrow.

“What are you looking at?” 

I shift myself into a sitting position, taking care not to disturb the sleeping cat, and relieve one of the cups from her hands. 

“Just the most beautiful and clever woman I know.”

The drink is sweet and cold with the bite of alcohol.

“Honey tongue.”

Her lips are sweeter and it just feels right.

“Hey, I’m still here.”

We break apart, all sharing a laugh.

Yes, just right


	10. Egypt 2 of 3 NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dolly, just a bit of fun.

I’m not drunk, not even the least bit buzzed.

But so confident, sure of myself, I want this.

Maybe that’s what’s scaring me.

We just finished another double date with Lucio and Murcat when they decided to take their own cab back to base while I was in the loo. Zandra wouldn’t give me a straight answer as to their reasons but I didn’t miss the mirth in her eyes.

The ride back to her flat wasn’t much different from any of the others, a bit more hand holding but nothing prepared me for the look in her eyes when we stepped into the light of the complex. Sharp, heavy and dark that made my knees a bit weaker, mouth a bit dryer, somewhere else a bit  _ wetter. _

It began with the first time she asked to see the anchor in my chest three weeks ago. Not even thinking twice, I slipped my shirt off and went to unclasp my bra. She stopped me, red in the face and told me it was best that I kept it on for the pictures. We had to wait until I stopped blushing so it didn’t look like my anchor was embedded into a tomato with a knockers. 

She was careful when examining the tech, murmuring to herself as she was able to identify all the parts that Winston had taught her about. Her fingers traced the scars around the cylinder, gentle, exploring. That night, we stayed up talking about my time in the fishbowl, the accident, the pulling; laying in her bed until I had to be back for lights out. 

It really began building up at the start of this week. With the presentation coming up, Pardenilla gave me a seven days of break to make sure that I wouldn’t ‘fuck up the demonstration and disgrace Overwatch’; time which I have spent practicing the script with Zandra in the comfort of her flat. 

Wish commander had worded it a bit nicer but again, I’m not complaining. 

Tonight, her father is away at the farm until the presentation. We barely make it through the front door and kick our shoes off before she has me pinned against the wall, hand in my hair, a flurry of lips and tongues. The kiss is hungry and I can barely keep up. 

“Bedroom.” She growls out and I nod, pulling her down for more. 

We stumble a bit before she gives up and carries me the rest of the way, her eyes dragging themselves over my body as we go. Not one to sit still, I bury my face into the crook of her neck, licking at the soft, salty skin and drinking in her scent. 

She says something in Arabic with a hushed gasp as I suck hard enough to leave a mark. 

My back lands on the soft mattress and I am pinned by her body once more, hands untucking my dress shirt and finding the heated skin beneath. I move my own hands, eager to get her out of the blouse she kept open one button too low for me not be distracted. 

She makes surprisingly quick work of the buttons, undoing them and pressing both palms flat against my somersaulting stomach. I let a low groan as she drags blunt nails across my skin. They suddenly pull back, all contact disappears. 

A pause, silence in the air only broken by our shallow breaths.

In the dim moonlight and the soft glow of my anchor, she looks me in the eye, still half lidded but clearer and aware. Her teeth nervously chew at her bottom lip, maroon lipstick smeared on her chin. 

“Am I moving too fast? Would you like to talk about this-” 

I palm the back of her head and pull her down, cutting off the rest of her words with my lips.

“I’m for actions, not words. If anything makes me uncomfortable, or you uncomfortable, we can deal with it then, love” I smile, trusting her,  _ loving _ her.

Zandra kisses me gently, nodding. 

“Don’t hesitate.” 

Finally, the blouse falls open and my hands roam over the tense muscles I find. I slide them back and under the waist of her skirt, grabbing a handful of her arse.

“I don’t plan on it.” 

The game is back on, her grin almost sadistic as she pins my hands above my head and attacks my neck with teeth and tongue. Each nip sends a shot of molten arousal to my groin, my hips lift up, trying to find contact. A throaty moan is torn from my mouth, her leg comes up and presses in  _ hard _ between mine. 

Unashamed, I grind against the firm muscle, a difficult task with my arms still held down.

“Shite, love. If you’re gon’ fuck me, at least take my trousers off.” 

I swear my panties are probably ruined by now. 

She chuckles against my neck and releases my arms. 

“I would much rather watch you take them off yourself.” There's a hint of a command interlaced within the quip that sends a wave of shivers down my spine. 

Oh, so that’s what she likes. Splendid. I love being a bit argumentative, makes the punishment a lot more fun. 

I see her watching me writhe on the bed with her braced on her arms above me, my limbs now free. Her loose dark hair spills down over her shoulders and for a moment, I get lost at how stunning she looks. 

“Tracer.” 

Self-doubt and worry, I hesitated too long. Smiling apologetically, I peck a kiss on her cheek.

“Sorry love, just admiring the view.” 

Lust slowly creeps up and replaces the relief as I bare more and more of my skin. I shrug my shirt off the rest of the way. I keep my eyes on hers, even when they’re following the movement of my hands. It’s thrilling to see how hungry she looks and how much power I hold over her. 

A give and take

My bra comes off next, she takes a sharp breath when the cups fall away, her mouth parting just a hair more. I give her a show, lifting my hips and swaying them to an unheard beat as I undo the button and slowly pull the zipper down. 

I slip my hand under both layers of fabric, brushing a finger over the hood of my clit. It sends electricity through my nerves, seeing her watch me like this, a bit naughty, a bit adventurous. 

I’m right about my earlier prediction, my underwear absolutely is soaked. 

Grabbing the waistbands, I push them both down in a slow, teasing motion, one side at a time, exposing more and more of my legs, finally kicking them off and leaving me completely naked. She hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t said a word, barely breathing. 

“Like what you see?” It comes out cheeky, hopefully hiding the nervousness in my own voice. 

Heart thudding in my chest, she grins, dipping down and placing a kiss on my belly button. Hot breath washes over the sensitive skin. Her lips move up, tickling and leaving behind a wet trail of maroon lipstick. 

“Yes, very much,  _ ya amar _ (my moon “beautiful”).” She makes it up to the anchor, tongue gently swirling around the metal, “You are absolutely stunning.”

“Look who’s the honey tongue now.” I let out a low moan, her mouth latching onto a nipple as a hand reaches down and presses against my folds.

She seems very content with herself just playing with my breasts with her mouth; a mixture of nips and sucking leaves me desperate for air. 

For a brief moment, I can see blood, the room cold, stained photos of family and friends. 

I shake the thought from my head, focusing on the exploring fingers between my legs, how they dance and waltz. They push past my trimmed hairs, eyes locked on mine when one finally push in. It’s almost embarrassing how easily it slides. 

Oh so gently, oh so caring, she pumps it in and out, thumb keeping constant pressure on my aching bud. I whimper softly, hand twisting into the sheets.

“Another?”

“Fuck yes.” 

The second one joins just as easily, making me feel just a bit fuller, a bit more complete. I aasp against her mouth as she curls them. My hands find purchase on her back and I pull her flush to me. 

“Your anchor is surprisingly warm.” Zandra murmurs off handedly. 

“Maybe cause you’re getting me so hot.” 

She snorts back a laugh, she replies with a bite on my neck and the quickening of her hand. Our chests grind together, slick with sweat. I want her clothes off but I don’t want her to stop. 

“Another.” 

I rasp out. She regards me for a moment, seemingly impressed? Or maybe just surprised. I need it, to feel the stretch, to feel that it’s her doing this to me. Making me say stupid things and stare way too long into her at her face.

The third is hesitant, agonizingly slow. It takes a bit more to fit it in and feel it push against my core. My chest rumbles with a moan, my nails digging into her back. I’m not used to it, nearly gasping for her to take it out. 

But all the same, it hurts in a good way, to know that it’s her. Perhaps if she was someone else, someone nameless, it would be different. I take one look at her, Zandra Salam, Miss ‘how about a date’, and I just can’t believe I’m here. Happy, alive, in love. 

“Move, please.” 

And I feel her, the pulse of her finger, and circles of the thumb. The thrusts are shallow and awkward as she tries to learn me, lips on my neck to distract. My body tenses and a cry spills from my mouth when she curls them to the right. 

“Did I-”

She begins to pull away, my hand instinctively clamping around her wrist and keeping her there. Her face is a bit scared, worried. I take a moment to blink away the flashes in my vision. 

“No, it felt good. Do it again.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, finding the spot once more and working it. The pace quickening, her hot breath whispering sweet nothings in Arabic against my collarbone. Higher and higher. Breathless, tangle of limbs, tighter.

It’s not perfect, first times never are, but it’s  _ us.  _

I throw my head back, so close, I think I shout out, so close. 

“Come for me,  _ ya amar. _ ” 

And I do, muscles snapping tight, hands on her face, watching her through lidded eyes as she sees what she has done to me. I cry out her name in an avalanche of curses. Her eyes are intense but tender, studying and learning with a hint of smugness. The thrusts becoming slower and eventually still for a moment before leaving. 

Soft lips on mine. I let out a sigh and a lopsided smile. 

“Brilliant.” 

“I am pleased to hear it.” 

It doesn’t take much effort to roll her over, my legs on either side of her stomach. I look at her, the way her shirt is open exposing her black bra and heaving chest. Even in the dim lighting, I can see her blush deepen when I bring her damp hand to my mouth; kissing and taking my sweet time to clean each finger. 

By the time I finish, her eyes are dark again, lips parted, quiet gulps of air. 

Sweet sweet satisfaction. 

I lean down and feel the heat radiating off of her, my hand feeling the staccato beat of her heart. 

“Let me return the favor, love.” 


	11. Egypt 3 of 3

Thankfully, there a cream to help heal bruises that works wonders on hickeys too.

 

* * *

 

It’s the big day. I still can’t believe that they let me do this.

On stage, in this uniform, I am ‘Tracer’ of overwatch, here to blink over your head to demonstrate controlled chronal whatevers.

Zandra’s voice eases the nervous flutterings of my gut, she’s still explaining one thing or another with a giant screen behind her showing the diagrams she drafted. I look out into the packed lecture hall, filled to the walls with her class, an arseload of scientist and engineers, and a single camera drone covering the entire story.

My girlfriend, my love, on world television.

I’ve been in the limelight before; being the youngest pilot recruited into overwatch garnered a bit of press at the time. All the flashing lights, nosy reporters, the ‘Are you hoping to find Mr. Handsome in the skies?’.

But this is different; back then, if I screwed up, it was my fault, my reputation. But this presentation isn’t mine, the cards aren’t mine. If I screw up now, it’s Zandra who’s going to take the fall.

And that’s whats making my heart thunder in my chest, which is painfully obvious when I look down and see the light of it pulsing wildly.

I go over the script in my head, the one we practiced non stop for the last two days; preparing ourselves for anything and everything that could go wrong. It’s not complicated, at least for my part, I’ve done maneuvers in battle more daring than what we have planned.

As long as I don’t screw up...

Between every slide, when she looks back as if to point at the screen, she glances at me; eyes bright, excited, loving and scared. Like everything in the world condensed into her soul. Reminds me of what I fight for; moments like these and the other people who experience it.

I’m a sap, I know.

She takes my hand, still talking into her headset mic. I don’t even bother trying to follow the jargon, instead, it’s the curl of her lips and the slight change of pitch in her voice when our hands touch that my brain hones in on. I am pulled to my feet and to the center of the stage.

“Overwatch has graciously let Tracer take time out of her busy schedule to demonstrate a few points live on this stage.”

A second camera drone flies in close and follows her hands, broadcasting whatever it sees onto the screen behind us. There are little birds in my stomach fluttering their blasted wings.

“As discussed earlier in the diagram, the anchor is constantly charged by the beating of the her heart. This is adequate for the purpose of keeping her anchored to the present timeline.”

She bears a tint of pride and sadness mixed in her voice. It was a tough few days when I shared details about my accident with her. I puff out my chest as her fingers about about referring to various spots on my harness. They slide up, circle around, open up the charging hatch and linger just a little bit longer than they need to.

“We are about to demonstrate what is called a ‘blink’, when Tracer surges 50e.v. from-”

Alright, crouch over, watch for the hand, one finger wave down, blink across the stage.

A pull, the world blurs, light, wind, solid ground.

A soft murmur washes over the crowd, pride replaces the birds. She puts a hand on my shoulder, smiling warmly as she continues to talk. Gentle pressure, turn around, flex the arse.

Her hand gives me a firm squeeze.

Fine, unflex the arse

“With a sleek fluctuator in the back-”

And then flex it again!

Fingers prodding, teasing, absolutely unnecessary; it’s hard to keep still with her stabbing at my back. I can hear her smirk. It keeps me distracted, this little back and forth game.

“-store enough power for a series of blinks-”

Turn around, a nod, run leap over the crowd, blink 3 times.

I smile, half way done. It’s fun to show off a bit.

Under me, between each blink, the crowd below me falls away. I am back in Switzerland soaring across the gap of two roofs. Not a sea of amazed faces, just empty air and Amari looking up.

Except it’s not Amari but her daughter.

She looks familiar.

It clicks, my muscles lock up, my lungs seize.

_Dark skinned with a tattoo under her right eye, but the left side of her face is…_

Fareeha ‘Pharah’ Amari

She raises a giant weapon and fires, scorching heat.

One last pull, slingshot, solid ground. I stumble on the landing. My ears are ringing.

Here, I am here. Breathe.

I stay crouched over on the ground for longer than we rehearsed. The ground feels like waves rippling and waiting to pull me under. Navy blue carpet, endless ocean, get a grip, Lena, _get a grip._

Applause, chatter of amazement, Zandra is waiting for me at the stairs with concerned eyes.

Feet unsteady, I shake and force myself to stand. I rip my gloves off, hands trembling trying to control my stuttering lungs. Uneasy steps towards the stage, I keep my eyes locked on the ground in case it falls away again.

Pharah is the woman I’ve been seeing next to Angela in those visions. She’s the one in the tattoo just like her mother.

But it’s not real, none of it is. Just a dream, it’s just all in my head.

I run my hands on everything I can as I make my way back to the stage; the soft leather of my jacket, my hair. It helps.

“Are you alright, _habibi?_ ” She whispers to me, muting her mic for only me to hear.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, love.” I take her hand, letting her support me up the steps.

It’s hot to the touch and I recoil back out of shock.

“Zandra, you’re burning up.”

The engineer cups my face, the palms feel like they’re searing into my skin. I try to wince back but she holds tight, looking me in the eyes. They look so worried, on the brink of tears.

“Tracer, your pupils are blown, you’re freezing cold.” her hands drop, “We’re calling it off.”

I grab her hand, ignoring the pain lancing up my arm. It pulls her attention back to me.

“Bullshite, I’m here with you until the end.”

The crowd has already died down, waiting for the next part. If we delay any longer, they’ll realize something’s wrong.

“I’m here with you.”

I push every ounce of confidence and reassurance into my voice. We can’t stop, not when the world is watching. I can’t let her down like this.

She hesitates for a moment before cautiously nodding. The presentation continues.

I gather up my nerves, preparing for the next stunt. A simple recall, done it plenty of times, practiced it in this very hall just yesterday. This time shouldn’t be any different.

It’s all in my head, just a little hiccup, just a little stumble. Ill talk to Angela later about changing my meds.

“Now when Tracer pulls 150e.v. through the core in the other direction-”

Lock eyes, scared hopeful, we both are. A nod.

_Don’t do it_

Running start, leap and fly over the crowd. Some look up ready themselves to catch me.

I hope they don’t need to.

Time slows, weightless,

Pull

Pull

Down

In all directions

Not back

Something is wrong

_Tearing, throbbing, tumbling down_

_All she can see are blurs of colors and jumbled voices; as if all that existed in that moment, in any moment, surrounds her. Shallow breathes rush in and out, never enough, burning-_

“Everyone, please, an applause for Tracer.” Her voice the first thing that my ears register, the mask on her fear is impressive.

My legs are weak, my lungs burn, she’s helping me off stage, two more hands, another pair, they lead me out the side door and into the blinding sun. But it’s not hot, my body is numb, I can see the hands, see the light. Can’t feel them.

No, not like this

Not again

The audience cheers, it’s a success, but I’m supposed to sit on stage and stay with her as she finishes the presentation.

I see her worried eyes just as the door closes and I collapse.

 

* * *

 

We discussed this, if something were to go wrong she needs to carry on. Lucio and the others will take care of me, just press on. Forget about me.

There’s supposed to be a Q&A at the end of the presentation with me next to her.

We rehearsed every question we could think of and searched up some more on google.

‘There are rumors that you two are romantically involved with each other.’

My cheeky response.

‘Only time will tell.’

But I’m not there; I’m in the med-bay of the watchpoint, my accelerator quarantined in the armory, a medic watching my vitals. He doesn’t know I can see him, doesn’t notice the tiny crack between my eyelids.  

I can’t open them any further, but I’m grateful for Lucio suggesting to put a small broadcast of her on stage in front of my face.

‘Just in case’

She answers each question flawlessly, trying her best to hide the waver in her voice, the fidgeting of her hands. But I can pick them out. I’m sorry, I want to say, hug her tight, it’s my fault. She’s itching to finish but the inquiries keep coming.

“I noticed that it looked like Tracer had an accident-”

“She’s fine, just a little hiccup.” It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself but surprisingly, it’s the only question of its kind.

I want to smile, try to. Maybe I am and I just can’t feel it.

Finally, the hour is up, she gives a curt answer to the last question and thanks everyone for their time.

Minutes later, Zandra is escorted in by a patrol and rushes to my side.

We talk, well, she does, I can’t with a tube down my throat for my defiant lungs. She cries, I feel her pick up my hand, pressing it to her face. It feels like it’s being dipped in fire but she’s here, real, and I don’t care that it hurts.

They’re flying me back to the Swiss base to see Winston for emergency repairs in an hour. Zandra stays with me until we’re at the bottom of the ramp, the engine of the heliplane humming behind us. They won’t let her come with me.

I can breathe again, move my head but nothing else. I smile sadly, kissing the knuckles of the hand she presses to my lips.

“I’ll wait for you.” She has no more tears to cry, eyes bloodshot, a brave face.  

I’ve done my own fair share of crying but try to stay positive. They’ll fix me right up, I know it. I cough, trying to clear my lung of water that’s not there. The anchor vibrates and aches with every breath.

“I’ll make sure not to make you wait too long.”

The kiss is sweet and not nearly as long as I wish it to be. No one says a word, respect, when someone might be dying, you learn to just let people have their moments. Lucio and Murcat say they’ll hold the fort down while I’m gone. It’s the most somber I’ve ever her Murcat.

I’m pushed up into belly of the transport, straps keeping me secured to the gurney.

They wave

I can’t wave back

The door closes

The plane takes off

And so I’m gone

 

* * *

 

 

 

I don’t know why they put a basketball hoop in the transport, not like we can play while we’re flying.

 

* * *

 

Winston and an army of doctors greet me when we land. I’ve gotten control of my body again and pass their coordination tests. They have me lay back down, strapping me in before they say they’re going to put me back in the fishbowl, a precaution they say.

I struggle the best I can but the bands hold, panic crushes my chest like a hand around my throat. The hallway lights pass overhead. I’m crying, begging.

Don’t put me back in there

Please

Mercy, Angela, tell them, I don’t want to go back.

But she isn’t here

He says he’s sorry, there’s no other choice. If I were to disappear again…

But it’s not me! Not the anchor! It’s the accelerator, I’m fine, fine, please.

He can’t stay with me, taking the blasted piece of tech back to his lab to fix, leaving alone with these strangers. Around me are just nameless faces, faceless doctors, _lips move and disappear into a gaping maw._

_Littering the floor are empty bottles and wrappers, piles of them. Tally marks are scratched into every surface. The humming is gone, the lights are gone, it’s all gone._

I scream until the doctors file out of the chamber, until my throat goes raw, until they give me a dose of sedatives and ease me into the darkness.

I beg them not to.

They just keep apologizing

 

* * *

 

Maybe it’s there to just tease us. Bet there are a bunch of stupid vids of Reyes or Morrison trying to slam a dunk in zero-g.

 

* * *

 

I awaken with bleary eyes and heavy limbs, staring up at a familiar ceiling I fondly remember. The air is a buzz, a bright light and a crackling. It’s not the fishbowl, somewhere that warms my heart.

The smell of ozone and peanut butter.

“Winston?”

My mouth feels home to a handful of cotton balls, voice raspy and rough and oh so small. The welding stops and he’s next to me in an instant with a bottle of water pressed to my lips.

“Hi there.”

The water doesn’t want to go down, sputtering and fighting. I force it.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death, love.” I smile, flexing my sore muscles. It takes a couple moments as I feel everything start responding normally.

He helps me into a seated position, letting me take the bottle and drink at my own pace.

“Sorry to say but my observations find that you are very much alive.” He readjusts his glasses, chuckling. “I’m almost done.”

“How long?”

It feels like the first time I woke up here.

“Five days, you kept flicking in and out for the first three so we kept you sedated. After the last two showing no signs of coronal disturbances, we brought you in here to wake you up”

I hug him, whispering a thank you. They, probably with a lot of pressure from Winston, took me out of the fishbowl and into somewhere nicer so I wouldn’t have to wake up in there. Bollocks, he’s too good to me.

But it’s strange to think that I just lost 5 days of my life, just like that. Not even dreams, nothing.

What if it happened every night, I wouldn’t remember...

He straightens up as if remembering something and hobbles over to a cabinet, returning with a handful of snacks. “You’ve been on a drip, so you might be hungry.”

As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, along with another sensation.

“Thanks, I actually want to hit the bog too.”

He tilts his head with narrowed eyes. Right, slang don’t work on him.

“I gotta piss, Winston.”

His face falls and contorts into one of mock disgust. We both laugh, he waves me off and says not to get lost before returning to fixing the accelerator. I grab a bag of crackers on my way out, green onion, wicked.

It’s been over a year, feels like a lifetime, good to be around the big guy again.

It must be early morning, the halls of the research building are empty, all the rooms dark. I pass a lone patrol on my way out of the restroom. Good thing she recognizes me cause all I have on is a gown and a half eaten bag of crackers in my hand.

She just nods and continues on her way.

Tossing the empty bag into a rubbish bin, I take the liberty to step out into the yard where a decent summer breeze sweeps around me. There are hints of the first rays of light blending into the dark sky. Feels a bit like home, but still, a bit empty.

I have a moment, could call someone. Seeing that I don’t have my phone on me, I only have the option of calling one of the two people I really want to talk to right now.

“Trace the ace! Back from the dead!”

He’s surprisingly cheerful save for the usual morning gravel. I don’t know the exact hour, but he is probably just starting his morning routine.

“Can’t keep me down, mate.”

“Ey ey, _meu amor,_ Trace is on the line.”

I don’t quite know how I feel about Murcat whispering into Lucio’s ear to talk to me. It feels...oddly wrong and invasive.

“Tracer, good to know you are alive and well.”

“Yeah, Winston told us that you were stabilized.”

Watch the sun slowly rise as they talk, filling me in on the outcome of the presentation; after opening up the line so I didn’t have the sound of a man whispering into my ear. A few news channels made the fumble a big deal, but for the most part, they loved it. There’s already talk of more outreach events with other schools.

“Can you tell Zandra that I’m alright?”

“No problem man, Winston said he filled her in too before he called us.”

Warmth blossoms in my chest. Family, all these blokes, I love ‘em to bits. We say a few more lines before bidding farewells, they have their day to start and I should be getting back to the lab.

I’m...calm. For the circumstances that brought me here, the world just feels still. It’s like we’re all holding our breath but we don’t quite know why.  

On the way back, I glance into the med-bay. It’s a woman tending to someone’s hand.

No sign of Angela.

 

* * *

 

Winston says he can’t pinpoint what went wrong with the accelerator, but he does assure me that after replacing some of the hardware, it should be fixed. It might’ve been a compatibility issue with the updated harness and the older tech of my anchor. He took a look at it while I was out, replaced some things but it’s still holding fast.

I can’t help but think back to seeing it in Angela’s workshop, whining, flickering red every time I approached.

The air is tense when I try my first blink

A pull, the world blurs, light, wind, solid ground.

A sigh of relief.

We keep at it the entire day, putting it through stress tests, having me blink over gap after gap after gap. Everything feels in place and by the end of it, I’m confident in the little thing again.

“You are all cleared. If something malfunctions and you cannot reach me, consult your girlfriend.”

A flush of embarrassment and pride. Tosh, good to know the big guy likes Zandra.

The nameless doctor I saw earlier screens me for good health. He isn’t much for conversation.

“Mercy is in Japan working on a special assignment.”

Is all he tells me, it’s no surprise really. We’ve got lads everywhere getting themselves hurt.

Another day, a quick briefing with Morrison, a lunch date with Winston and I’m on a transport back to Egypt.

 

* * *

 

I try out the basketball hoop, it’s hard, but is it bloody satisfying to land a shot soaring above the clouds.

 

* * *

 

I get a night to rest when we touch down, coming just in time to spend evening mess with the lads. I buzz Zandra and smile at the voice message greeting we recorded together so long ago. I leave her a message that I’ll be stopping by in the morning.

Sleep comes easy, I bundle up the shirt I stole from her and hold it ‘til morning.

 

* * *

 

Wake up, shower, toothbrush

There’s a bounce in my step, I sing and shout.

Get dressed, cup of tea, go-bar

Wolfing down breakfast with Lucio and Murcat teasing me all along the way. Feels like home.

Pills, mirror, smile Lena

It comes easy.

Sometimes I think I’ve settled down, as much as an overwatch agent can. We’ve been stationed in Cairo for about seven months now. Got the lads with me, got easy assignments with no one shooting at me, got a girl that smiles when she sees me.

And makes me smile with her.

Please let it stay like this, not forever, I know, but for just a bit longer.

They waste no timing putting me back to work with the green light from Winston. My satchel is heavy this morning, the list has me delivering a couple of packages around the city. I turn down the streets and follow the route that began all of this.

My steps falter a bit, it’s her father sweeping out the dust at the door of the shop. But I perk up and bound over nonetheless, he’s quite the kind geezer. It’s a chance to practice the Arabic Zandra had been teaching me.

“Morning, _hamo_ (father in law)!”

He looks up from his chore, a wide grin rapidly overtaking his wrinkled face. Once I get close enough, I extend my hand to which he eagerly shakes it.

“Ah, _kinah_ (daughter-in-law), I am happy to see you in good health. I have not thanked you enough for the wonderful opportunity you have graced my daughter with. _alf šukr_ (a thousand thanks).”

He kisses me on both cheeks, looking me straight in the eye with a hearty smile. I’m not entirely sure what he just said, but I take it to be a good thing. He shoves me into the shop before I can even formulate a response.

“Zandra has been worried sick, we all have.” I feel a twinge of guilt for causing them grief. His welcoming smile and warms hands still clasped around mine eases it away. “She is in the back putting crates away. You should see her before you run away again.”

He points to the door leading to the alley behind the shop. I turn to him, giving him a little two finger salute.

“Gotcha, thanks pops.”

He must find me odd compared to the usual traditions around here.

The surface of the door is worn and bare, sounding solid against my knuckles.

“Oh Zandra, it’s your favorite!”

I hear the sound of a crate clattering to the ground and running footsteps, I take a step back and brace myself. The door bursts open and she engulfs me in a death hug.

“Tracer!” her grin is impossibly wide, heartwarming laugh, another spike of guilt when I see the bags under her eyes.

My eyes begin to prick at the corners and heat up. I didn’t think I would, didn’t even know I am until she leans down and kisses me hard. I’m crying, maybe she is too.

She lifts me up off my feet and we’re swinging, dancing, laughing.

Flying, soaring above the clouds here with her.

I feel solid ground under my shoes and her hands cupping my face, tilting it up to meet hers. We don’t care that It’s 23°C outside, or that we’re both already sweaty, or that her hands are sticky and sweet with fruit juice.

“I love you.”

My heart leaps and gets caught in my ribs.

“I love you too.”

Because we are here

And it feels so right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If my Arabic phrases are off, I apologize. Trying to make this a cute as possible before shit hits the fan. >:D


	12. Beloved of Ma'at

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so quite the chapter. We're starting to explore deeper things, keep an open mind, start picking out the details. Most are put in with a plan in mind, some aren't. Either way, man, it's a ride.
> 
> ALSO, headcannon/cannon for this story: Right now in the story, Lucio and Tracer don't look the way they do 'in game'. Later developments will explain :D

The call comes in the dead of night.

A violent riot in Luxor down the river, police have been beaten back. Dozens already dead on both sides. They’ve taken the city hall, a lot of the local military there have joined their cause. 

Everything is in Arabic, we don’t know exactly what’s going on.

The police have asked Overwatch for aid, the big wigs give it them.

The watchpoint there is down to one squad with the rest already deployed elsewhere.

The order trickles down to us.

By the first teasings of morning sun, Lucio’s squad is loaded up into a transport. Routine he says, he’s responded to so many of them in Mexico he’s practically pro at it. 

I tell him to make them dance ‘til they calm down. 

And he gets on the plane, straps himself in, and waves.

I wave back

The door closes

The plane takes off

And so he’s gone

 

* * *

 

Only in the morning do the news reports come in on why they’re protesting.

Overwatch

In a sick turn of events, the riot was specifically aimed at pressuring officials to shut down the watchpoint in Luxor. I watch the news with a ball of terror lodged in my throat. Lucio hasn’t responded to any of my calls. 

My heart leaps when I see his green shirt comes into frame.

The mess hall is deathly quiet with all eyes locked on the screens. They don’t usually let us watch these things but after we learn the circumstances of the riot, Ashan and Pardenilla give in. 

It might be the last time we ever see our friends. 

The camera is close enough to pick up Lucio’s music drumming away from his speakers. It zooms in on his face, streaked with worry and dirt but still smiling.

Nguyen is next to him with a large energy shield held up; not quite the same as Reinhardt’s but it keeps the rocks from hitting his squad. Slowly, step by step, they push forward, moving towards the still bodies of two police officers in the street. 

The mob is shouting and chanting, tossing everything from sandals to burning pieces of wood. I can see Murcat flinching when they hit the shield. He’s holding his signature orange pulseround rifle he built with his dad when he was first accepted into Overwatch. 

Without needing to understand what they’re saying, I can see the anger and guilt they have pinned onto our lads. Some spit on them before they’re shoved away. 

Finally, the squad gets to the pair and hunker down. 

The reporter is going off rapid fire as if commentating on a sporting event.

Lucio leans over the two, checking their vitals with the help of another soldier with an red and white armband. A second passes. Nguyen looks down at them and they shake their heads. 

Everyone picks up their equipment and they press on.

It doesn’t look good, the shouting dies down, the windows of the city hall empty. Like the entire street is holding their breath. Protesters scatter like roaches, ducking into alleyways and busted store windows. 

For a moment, it’s quiet and the dread builds. 

They need to get out of there. 

Everyone in the squad keeps their eyes open and searching for new threats.

Suddenly, the speakers of the tele blast with the sound of a battle cry and gunfire. The camera shakes, rapidly panning the view from the squad to the doors of the city hall that are now busted open, uniformed soldiers pouring out. 

I think that they’re going to help but it’s a false hope as they open fire our men.

Small little shadows land around Lucio’s squad. Everyone ducks down with Nguyen’s barrier on top, huddling, shaking, holding their breaths. 

The ground erupts with explosions.

It’s a warzone, not a city street. Where’s the military, where’s our backup? Why are we still trying to help if we’re the reason why they are protesting?

They scramble to their feet, Lucio helping another up before pointing the blackened remains of a car. A soldier falls as they run for cover, they don’t get back up, Lucio trying to help him but it’s too late.  

The frame changes to an aerial perspective, looks like they’ve got a helicopter overhead by the shadow it casts. No one else is there, just our squad and the mob of Egyptian uniforms staring them down. 

I can’t believe my eyes, wanting to look away, but if I do; it’s a very real possibility that this might be the last I see of any of them. 

My communicator buzzes, it’s Lucio.

“Lucio?!” Everyone around me looks to me, gobsmacked that I’m talking to the man who is at the moment huddled behind a smoldering wreckage on the tele. 

“Trace. You seeing this right?” 

“Yeah, mate…’

I hear someone on his side barking out updates as we see them happen. The soldiers have fanned out, blocking off side streets, taking up positions behind low walls and digging themselves in. Gunfire is exchanged but they are well trained, armed to the teeth, and fighting as if they had nothing to lose. 

There’s only one way out and that’s backwards to the clearing they were dropped off at two streets down.

“You gotta get outta there, mate. Us being there is only making things worse.” 

“This is nothing, you should’ve seen what they did to us in Mexico.” 

It’s a strained joke, a lie, he’s trying to keep up.

Another round of explosions, the sound of rubble raining down onto the barrier. It’s designed to stop bullets, but even with that, it won’t be able to stand up much longer before needing to recharge. I know what he’s going to saying before he responds.

“We’ve got orders to push through, they’ve got hostages in there that need their butts saved.” He tries to sound positive. When he pauses, doesn’t have to say it but the thought hangs in the air, heavy and  _ there. _

That he won’t be able to save everyone

But damn he will try.

That he might die today.

But damn it won’t be without a fight.

And by the looks of it...

I’m doing my best to hold back tears, how do I say goodbye to a friend who has been with me since the start. 

Good bye

All the smiles and laughs. Snorted beers and spilled secrets.

Farewell

Late night jam sessions, avoiding our commanders.

Be safe

Double dates and those horrendous taco boxers.

It’ll never be enough

But he hasn’t died yet.

“Remember what we always say.” I choke on the words.

Maybe for the last time

On screen, the light of the shield flickers and finally gives out. They’ll be exposed for 30 seconds before it’s fully charged again. Crowding around the right side of the car, I can see Lucio in the center with the familiar whine of the pack on his back charging up for a sound barrier.  

“We do good work, fight the good fight.” He chuckles, the words bitter.

I am nodding and I know he can’t see it, wringing my hand and I know he can’t feel it. Can’t find the words stuck in my throat, just watching the news as they get into position, ready to charge into whatever lies waiting for them inside.

If they make it inside.

“I love you, Lucio.” 

I can hear his smile in the cracking of his voice.

“I love ya too, Lena.” 

The comm ends, my heart is heavy.

“Oh, let’s break it down!”

A green wave of light ripples out from Lucio, kicking up dust and debris. In an instant, they all rush forward behind Nguyen, sprinting faster with the help of Lucio’s music. Gunfire pelts them from all sides but they keep moving undeterred. 

10 meters until they reach the open doors.

A few of the rioters fall as the squad fires back. There’s no blood under their bodies but they don’t get back up. Concussive rounds, non lethal force.  

5 meters

Some of them start flinching and tripping, the sound barrier wearing off leaving them vulnerable. Two more fall and Lucio stops to help them up, pressing his glowing yellow speaker to their bodies. A bullet rips through his side and he stumbles back. 

He can’t die.

_ he has his music.  _

_ we can’t die, because ‘heroes never die’. _

Another shot to his leg, he gets the two onto their feet and shoves them into the building before falling to the ground. Someone is running back out, eyes trained down the sights of an orange rifle and firing anyone who dares to peek up. Murcat literally scoops Lucio into his arms and sprints them into the building. 

My stomach churns at the blood trail they leave behind. 

A wave of uniforms rush in after them and then bounce right back out with the sound of a loud bass that even rattles the tele. They all writhe on the dirt clutching their ears, down for the count.

I smirk, soundwave, nice thinking. A small sigh of relief, at least I know he’s still alive. 

The shot hovers on the scattered forms on the ground before cutting to a man at a desk. A sudden burst of anger rushes through me, they can’t just leave it there; I need to know that they get out alive, that they’ll walk out with new scars and a wicked story. 

They need to keep covering it.

But then I realize that it’s pointless and that just makes me more upset. The fight is inside a building and no sane reporter would follow after them. All any of us can do is wait for updates.

The tele is shut off, everyone is silent. We have to keep on with our day. 

Pardenilla is quiet and quick at the briefing. Usual assignments, bag of things to run, she sends me on my way with a soft ‘stay safe’.

The first time I’ve ever heard her say that to me but she’s an arse anyways. 

Zandra is waiting for me teary eyed and pulls me into a hug. She says she’s glad I wasn’t deployed, kissing me. 

I wish I was. 

She takes my hand and asks me to bow my head. We stand in the middle of the street as she whispers a prayers for the safe return of Lucio and Murcat and everyone else. 

Never been the religious type.

But I find myself praying with her.

 

* * *

The day seems to drag on with the sun now high in the sky. I keep checking my phone, looking at teles in stores for any news. All they show is a shot of the shut doors of the city hall and the empty streets where the bodies used to lay. Can’t understand what they’re saying.

I don’t dare to ring him. Any distractions could mean death. 

People in the streets keep looking at me when I pass, some with sneers, others with sympathetic eyes. News spreads fast and parents pull their children away when they see me. I grit my teeth, my head spinning with everything I don’t want to deal with right now.

My bag has one last thing to deliver, the list says “Pharah”.

Must be from her mother if it’s going through Overwatch.

 

* * *

She’s reading a book outside the library when I approach even though I’m 15 minutes early from the set time. Her eyes are blank with the usual stoic face. For a moment we just stand in front of each other, not really knowing how to act. 

Let’s just get this over with and go for a run ‘til I pass out.

“Here you are.” I wince at how deadpanned my voice is.

She takes the white box, tucking it away in the bag slung over her shoulder. I turn to leave, not expecting much from the reserved soldier. Like she would be troubled by the death of strangers.

“They’ll survive.” She says as sure as day.

I whip around, hairs bristling, not knowing why her comment is bringing me anger instead of comfort. What does she know, she’s only met them once. Lying through her teeth she is, taking me for a poor sod in need of pity. Pity won’t keep them safe, won’t bring them home.

We should be out there helping them.

“They have a good team, their commander is strong. Lucio and Murcat are strong, they will protect each other.” 

But that’s the thing! Both would gladly die for the other and I feel  _ so much guilt _ hoping that it’s Murcat that takes the bullet for Lucio. 

There’s a hand on my shoulder, she’s looking down at me, her face just a hair softer. It isn’t quite a hug, more like an arm pressing my face into her collarbone. I want to hit her, make her stop pretending to care. A few tears escape, burning hot and warring.   


Soldiers don’t care, we just follow orders. 

I don’t move. Just standing still until she lets me go. I want this day to be over already.

Without another word or even a look, I blink as far away as I can and sprint the rest of the way to the watchpoint.

 

* * *

During midday mess, Ashan calls the hall to attention in our seats. I can’t stand it, I hate military customs.

Everyone is rigid in their seats, our hands in front with palms to the table. We stand, those looking the other way about face to face him. Little tin soldiers lined up, standing sharp, tools for killing.

And then they toss us away. 

Why did Morrison even tell them to go in, didn’t he know before hand. Even if didn’t, he should have told them to pull out after the news got translated. No, Amari would’ve understood every word of the broadcast, she should’ve warned him. 

Why then

Why

_ Why _

The squad should’ve been withdrawn, we should’ve kept our noses out of it. 

I get myself worked up before Ashan’s announcement. My knuckles ache from being clenched so tightly at my side. He better have good news or so help the Queen.

“In regards of Nguyen’s squad being deployed in Luxor, I have been sent a report in which the details are to not leave this room until further notice, understood?”

A chorus of ‘Sir yes, sir!’. I keep my mouth shut, feeling a bit rebellious and bitter. It’s probably some propaganda bullshite anyways.

“The mission was to extract city officials from city hall controlled by the rioters. It was a success with all but one surviving, however, this comes at a loss.”

The blood rushes away from my head, tempting my body to sway and ease the feeling. I will stay standing, be strong for my lads. They’ll be alive, I know it.

“We must not lose sight of our goals, we are peacekeepers, protectors, avengers. The enemy has ties with Talon, their motive is unknown, only that they wish harm upon innocent lives and those who fight to protect them. We will stand strong and fight for the sacrifice that our brothers and sisters made today.”

He’s infuriatingly calm for all this. Does he not feel for them; does he not care that they were just sent to their deaths?

But we all know what we signed up.

“Of the 20 in Nguyen’s squad, 12 were injured. They are being tended to at the watchpoint in Luxor and are expected to survive. 4 have lost their lives and 1 is missing in action.” 

I can feel the air in the hall shift over and over again at the numbers with the same question in mind; who?

“Of the uninjured: Bear, Bishop, and Penko.”

Okay, maybe they’re just injured. Please let them be injured.

“Of the injured: Arrow, Ceallach, Celtic, Digger, Hall, Hammer, Knight, Lucio, Luna, Mursang, Nikanor, and Rupert.”

Oh bloody hell, it’s like a weight off my chest. Though I’m not ecstatic about him being hurt, just to know that he’s alive makes me want to jump for joy. Don’t care if I just let out the loudest sigh of relief, my lad is alive!

But Murcat…

“Of the killed in action: Chariot, Neptune, Nguyen, and Tahmid.”

My stomach drops.

“Of the missing in action: Murcat.”

The happiness drains away in an instant. I can’t imagine how Lucio feels. To be stuck in a med-bay, however hurt he is, unable to go out and look for him; not even knowing where Murcat is...or if he’s even alive.

“Do not try to call any of them, let them contact you over comm when they are ready. They will remain in Luxor until further postings. As for Murcat, his photo is now on the post board. Keep an eye out for him and lets bring this soldier home. Company, as you were.” 

The entire hall collapses into their seats, half with a rapid chatter, half with solemn looks. I want to smile, I think I am cause bloody hell Lucio is  _ alive. _

But it drops

Cause his lad is not.

 

* * *

The full story gets translated by evening mess, I listen to it on my phone as I eat the tasteless lentils. 

“-made matters worse by coming to break up the protest. While local law enforcement were formulating a plan to defuse the situation, a squad of Overwatch soldiers stormed the city hall-”

I switch to a different channel.

“-adly hostage situation in Luxor, Egypt earlier this morning. Things were made even more complicated when Overwatch entered-”

Another. Bloody hell does the whole world hate us? Is there just that much propaganda against us?

“-story, 4 brave souls have lost their lives today in Luxor, Egypt when a squad of Overwatch agents lent their aid to local law enforcement to help contain a violent riot turned hostage situation. Chariot, Neptune, Nguyen, and Tahmid pictured on the screen died to save the seven city officials held at gunpoint after rioters forced their way into the city hall. 12 more have been injured along with dozens of civilians and police. Here are a few eye witness accounts on the incident:

‘-Bang bang bang. I pull my mother into the bathroom and tell her to stay there. Then I hear music outside-’

‘-massive man with a shield and another with a flaming lance behind him. It was bloody awesome-’

‘-green shirt. My daughter goes; ‘Papa, it’s Lucio, Lucio from Overwatch. The one that goes “You gotta believe!”-’”

I smile, it’s nice to know that there are some people in the world that still see us as heroes, or at least humans. As I listen to broadcast after broadcast, a sickening pattern emerges. 

About half of them are negative towards our involvement, going as far blaming us for provoking the peaceful protest into a riot.

And none of them mention Murcat being missing. 

Is Overwatch trying to hide the fact one of our agents is gone. Is he captured, runaway, something worse?

_ about the soldiers ‘not making it through the operation’. _

There is so much speculation around the ordeal that it’s hard to find a neutral story on it. Tosh, even the reports they read to us are biased. Just have to wait ‘til Lucio buzzes me to straighten things out. 

 

* * *

It’s been a day and he hasn’t called. Either they’re lying about him being alive or he’s hurt bad.

Don’t know which I’m gunning for.

 

* * *

Zandra hugs me tight this morning with an enormous grin, excitement literally oozing out of every pore. I give her the best smile with the anxiety about Lucio trying to keep my lips turned down. 

“I know we’re both worried about Lucio and Murcat, but I think we’re both in need for some good news,  _ habibi. _ ” 

Her hands clasp over my eyes and she uses her body to guide me into the shop. Though I’m not the best of moods for a game, her happiness begins to rub off on me and I follow without question.

“Tracer of Overwatch, let me introduce you to Zandra Salam of Heka International; Egypt’s band of top dog engineers and scientists.” 

She uncovers my eyes and on a coat hanger is a clean, pressed navy blue uniform with a key card clipped to the front. My hands fly to my mouth that falls open, my chest swelling up with pride and happiness, pushing the sadness away.

“You did it. By the Queen’s knickers, you did it, love!” 

I shout and throw my arms around her neck. She laughs and it makes me forget all the troubles in the world for just a moment. Strong arms lift me up, my legs come around for support. 

“No,  _ we _ did it. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.” 

She kisses me. Or maybe I kiss her. It don’t matter, we meet in the middle, it’s sweet, and just what I need. She got her dream job and we’re smiling and things are looking up.

“Blimey, there’s a thousand questions racing through my noggin right now.”

Our foreheads rest against each other, settling into a rather comfortable position with her hands under my tush and my legs wrapped around her waist. Her eyes are so bright, hair in a ponytail that I toy with.

“Mmm, let me try first. I start next week, moving out into my own apartment a couple blocks down, my brother is coming up to take my place so have fun passing him each morning, it’s a government job so I get all the cushy perks with an impressive paycheck. They even have a project already lined up for me to work on.” 

With every thing she lists off, my smile grows wider. It’s a bit bittersweet knowing that I won’t see her on my route anymore, but it isn’t about me. It’s never about me with her, she deserves the world. 

“And what’s that?”

“It wouldn’t be top secret if I told you, now would it?” 

“You’re such a tease.” 

Warm lips on mine, one hand moves up to my back on top of the ‘sleek fluctuator’. With a squeak of surprise, she dips down and I’m parallel with the ground. I’m not afraid that I’ll fall, not when I’m in her arms. 

“Takes one to know one.” 

And we laugh, letting ourselves dance about when she sets me on my feet. I can’t dance, she knows this, but with each other, it doesn’t matter. To see her making a name for herself, following her dreams; it makes all the hurt worth it. 

Bittersweet it is.

To know it will end at some point

And what will become of us.

Maybe it doesn’t have to

But right now, this moment, I let myself be happy.

Because we are here

And it feels so right. 

 

* * *

On the fifth day of nervous fidgeting and late night chats on interior decorating, Lucio calls me while I’m on the phone with Zandra, trying to get her to say yes to orange curtains.

“Lucio! Zandra, Lucio’s on the line, I’m sticking it on conference.” 

“Actually, Trace, mind if I talk to you alone. No offence Zandra, Overwatch stuff.”

Even with the light tone in his voice, there’s a serious undertone that I can pick out. Something is off and it takes hold of my throat. I’m not sure if Zandra picks up on it.

“I take all the offense, Lucio. It’s good to hear you’re alive and kicking. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,  _ ya amar. _ ”

She doesn’t.

“See ya, love.” 

The comm prompts me with a video call request to which I immediately accept, Lucio’s face being broadcasted on the left side of my vision. He has an oxygen tube taped under his nose but looks decently well enough.

“How you holding up, mate?” 

I can tell the trouble brewing in his face. It’s the look he has when he don’t know what to say. 

“I’m alive, so I can’t complain” The words come out more bitter than I’ve ever heard him be. 

Hurts to see my lad like this, it’s hard to get either of us down. What happened in there? 

“Trace, ain’t no easy way to say this.” We both take a deep breath, Bracing for the impact. “Things got bad, man. I stepped on a trap they set on the stairs. I...I lost both my legs from the knee down.” 

It’s a good thing I’m already on my cot cause I feel myself sink down, jaw going slack. I want to slap myself thinking of what Zandra had just said before hanging up. That would explain why he hadn’t called me for five days, why he wanted to talk to me alone. 

I swallow thickly.

“I’m sorry, mate.” 

“I ain’t.” he smile, not a big as they usually are, but he’s still there, the little ray of sunshine. “It would’ve been me or the mayor behind me. Besides, maybe now they’ll fit me with hover legs like the ones are cars so I can whizz around.”

The image is hilarious, Lucio cruising around blasting music, finally being able to outrun Morrison complaining about said music.

“Waste, get jets legs, much cooler.” 

It gets easier as we swap outlandish things he could have for prosthetics. I’m amazed how quickly we turn a sad situation into a string of jokes. 

“Could have Zandra build you whatever you want, she’s working for Heka International now.”

“Whaaat, she gets a government job straight out of school. Mad props to her, man.”

His face suddenly shifts and falls, looking off to the side with a grim expression. It’s what we’ve been avoiding the whole time. I have a hunch on what just crossed his mind. 

“Don’t worry, love, we’ll get him home safe.”

Lucio sighs into his hand, fighting back the tears. He takes a moment before speaking in a small voice uncharacteristic for him, eyes staring down.

“I said goodbye to him on the transport, and again behind that car, and for the last time when he pulled me into the building. Told him he was crazy for running out for me like that. He...he kissed me in front of everyone to shut me up. Heat of the moment ya know.” 

He chuckles, recalling the events with a sad smile.

“It blows, man. We had it all planned out, take the summer off, head to Brazil so he could meet my folks, go to Iran to meet his. Settle on the beach, get a kid, teach ‘em how to climb a tree.” 

Choking on the joke, another stake through the heart. His hopes and dreams, gone in one mission.

“Worse part is not knowing. We cleared a room and bam, he was just gone; don’t know if he got caught, if he ran off, I dunno. They said his comm is offline so the can’t track him, copter in the air didn’t see him leave the building. I just-!” 

His teeth clench, the sound of his fist striking the hospital bed. Defeated tears falling from his face that I wish I could wipe away.

“I just hope he’s alright, man.”

I stay with him, telling him that I’ll keep an eye out on my runs. But it’s bleak, especially when Overwatch won’t admit that he’s missing for some bloody reason. The name Morrison feels like poison on our tongues. Whatever the commander is doing, it’s not with us in his best interest is it?

Lights out is called, he promises to call when when he can.

I promise him to hold down the fort while he’s gone. 

 

* * *

It’s strange for something to change after staying the same for eight months. 

Not too different though, turns out her sector works nights, something about offsetting power consumption. So she still meets me at the fruit stand but in casual wear instead of the stained overalls. 

A change I have no complaints about. 

Lucio calls me about every other day, they stick him on paperwork duty while bedridden. I tell her about Lucio after he gives me the greenlight, saying that she deserves to know too. 

Zandra gaps in horror, also remembering the off hand comment she made that night. It’ll be something we’ll look back on and laugh about over a pint. Right now, however, she hangs her head in shame and swears she’ll make it up to him somehow. 

 

* * *

A month goes by without major incident or really anything. The news seems to move on quickly, something that shocks the three of us. Another scandal arises, our story gets pushed aside and forgotten. No word on Murcat.

Lucio says he’ll be getting fitted for prosthetics soon. 

I don’t tell him but Zandra is working on hardlight skates after remembering him going on about ice hockey. 

 

* * *

Another month, Lucio sends a vid of him walking and then promptly falling on his face.

 

* * *

Pardenilla has be running more recon missions as of late; scouting out warehouses, eavesdropping on people, occasionally picking up and dropping off little envelopes. Again, why me; I’m a Brit in the middle of Egypt with a flashlight strapped to her chest; not the most inconspicuous of agents. 

It doesn’t sit right with me, this sneaking around. It reminds me of Mongolia.

But they are orders and in the end, I’m still a soldier.

It don’t mean I can’t do a little snooping around myself, built quite a name for myself with some of our informants.

There’s a gang on the East side of the city that seems to be giving the police trouble. The only reason it catches my attention is the code ‘Meerkat’ that I start seeing scribbled underneath their tags.

It’s a slim chance but I take it.

Murcat had gotten drunk on one of our double dates and was very convinced we were all spies behind lines. He said we needed a codeword for things if we ever got caught by the capitalist pigs. Wanting to hog the spotlight in his drunken stupor, he dubbed the word ‘Meerkat’ as the warning code, like how the furry little things call out to warn the rest of the clan. 

I didn’t think anything of it, barely even remembering it myself, but when I saw the oddly out of place word written in chalk, my gut told me it was him. 

Over the next week, I start asking around the informants about the gang that called themselves the “Beloved of Ma’at”. After a bit, I begin to think that I’ve stumbled upon a cult more than a band of criminals. 

They’ve got their hands everywhere in the city, sort of like a club that everyone whispers about but never flaunts membership. No one can tell me why the word ‘meerkat’ begins to pop up beneath all of their tags.

I don’t tell anyone of what I’m doing, not Lucio, not even Zandra. It’s better that they don’t know, keeps them safe. 

Shite, what am I becoming, Reyes?

I learn bits and pieces of them, most of it vague. Soon, I have a data chip of the all the tidbits of knowledge I’ve scrounged together. Informants tell me that the gang’s looking for info on the ‘Angel of Mercy’. A weapon maybe, a person.

Angela?

Nutters, not everything is about her, just a coincident. 

They’re mostly nonviolent and not really big on crime so how they operate without proper funds is completely beyond me. Maybe they’re connected to Talon, maybe to the riot in Luxor.

All I have is a whole lot of maybes. 

And it keeps getting more dangerous the deeper I dig. 

One of my birds calls me up during my morning runs, saying he has details of a scuffle the Ma’at had with Talon operatives a month ago. Tell him I’ll meet him at the square when my route is done.

Scruffy man with darting eyes and a beard that hides his small chin. ‘Meters’ is what he has named himself to us. The payment is coming out of my pocket today though, a personal inquiry.

“What'cha got for me love?” I greet him. 

He grunts, glancing everywhere and gesturing me to follow him down an alleyway. If I hadn’t been working with him for months, I would never been doing this without Lander next to me. But I sort of trust the man and I still have my pistol in my pants if something goes to shite.

Which it does, like always. 

We barely make it out of the crowd then a thunderclap rips through the marketplace. Everyone scatters and I draw my pistol, searching for the sniper.

“Meters, get behind-”

I look over and he’s on the ground with a hole in his head.  

I didn’t feel for the man, but the fact he just died, maybe because of me. It makes my mouth dry, my heart a bit heavier. Perhaps I should just drop this. I search his body, looking for a chip, a slip of paper, anything on what he might’ve told me. 

Nothing

A waste of time and a life. 

I take a lot of heat for it back at the watchpoint. 

“This was an unscheduled, unsanctioned meeting with an Overwatch informant that resulted in his death. Explain yourself.”

I tell them that he buzzed me with info about Talon, that it couldn’t wait and he needed to pass it before they caught up to him. 

“You should’ve called it in, we could’ve sent people to protect him.”

No time, didn’t think it would lead to this, he didn’t sound at all concerned, just a bit hurried like he needed to piss. Routine, he always sounded like that. 

I feel a bit of guilt with the lies, but it’s not like Pardenilla really cares either. She’s going to have the talk same with her boss, then the one after that, until Morrison gets a watered down version of it to wipe his arse with.

People die, that’s what they do. 

Just wish I knew who killed him and why. 

 

* * *

“Are you alright, Tracer, you’ve been really quiet.” 

I freeze up, snapping out of my daze. I’m at a coffee shop near the fruit stand, spending my free morning with the love of my life, sipping on a magnificently spiced coffee. 

And all I can think about is the word ‘Meerkat’ scrawled on the wall behind her. 

“Yeah, just tired is all.” I want to tell her. If not to ask if she knows anything about the word, then to get the lump of worry out of my stomach. 

Just two days ago, a week after Meters impromptu assassination, another informant by the name of ‘Sim’ called me up with the same line; info on a scuffle between Ma’at and Talon. Called it in and even took Lander with me. 

Another thunderclap

Another informant dead 

A tragedy

But I can’t tell her, just a reassuring smile, a graze of the hand, a witty comeback to make her laugh. 

“But never tired of seeing your beautiful face.”

She giggles, kissing me across the table.

“Honey tongue.”

With the world falling apart around me, her smile makes it easier to hold it all together. 

 

* * *

It begins with an offhand comment that Zandra makes one morning as she walks with me on my round of simple drop-offs. Safe, I’m little more than a paper boy on these days. 

“News says military is getting sent in to deal with a gang over on the East end.”

“Tosh, they must be bloody good if they’ve got boots after ‘em.” 

“‘Beloved of Ma’at’, I see their tags everywhere but it’s like I don't see  _ them.” _

My hands freezes half way through dropping a letter through a mail slot. Letting out a nervous chuckle, I try to gloss over the fumble.

“Ma’at? Lived here for nine months and never heard of them.”

She stops, looking at me with those sharp eyes. I know I’ve been caught, she always was so blasted observant.

“Tracer, what’s going on?” 

I’m torn, fear building in my chest. 

“Can’t tell you, love, Overwatch business.” 

It’s not the first time I’ve used the excuse.

I can see the hurt flash in her eyes and I want to take it back. It’s bloody hard, I want to keep her safe but I want to tell her everything and ugh now I’m just pushing her away. Taking her hand, I come up with an idea, curious myself, and...it might be about time.

“Actually, how about dinner this Saturday, your place. I’ll get leave and tell you all about it and you can tell me about this super important project you’ve been working on. Then we can do other super important things that require a lot less clothes.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless. It’s hard on her too, with a government job on experimental tech, but we’ll make it through. If we can’t trust each other with the secret heavy on our souls, then we’ll have to trust each other to bear it alone. 

But I try not to think about it

_ not forever, I know, but for just a bit longer. _

 

* * *

 

Flickers of archaic torchlight lighting up the dark. 

I’m moving, but I am not. A gust of air damp and cold, underground, alone.

A dream, it has to be. 

My vision swims in and out, a vault of sorts, a sign above in Arabic with a picture of grapes and a wineglass. A vineyard? 

“-out safe and sound”

My voice, but I’m not talking. 

It’s all dark, weightless, like swimming but feeling the ground beneath my feet. A pull, gunshots, the sharp smell of blood and I’m jolted awake. 

I’m seated at the desk in our quarters, hunched over my laptop where I was streaming with Zandra during her break. The screen’s black now but there’s a tab open and a coordinate pulled up on the map. I don’t remember us ever talking about visiting a vineyard. 

It’s already past lights out, Umali softly snoring away on her bunk. Can’t believe she let me sleep hunched over the desk like that, what a twat. 

I can’t shake the feeling of my dream, how vague it felt but deathly real and confusing. Maybe I just need to sleep, yeah. My numb feet try to carry me back to the bunk when a wave of nausea hits and sends me to the floor. 

Warm and dusty, tickling my nose as I gasp for air. My stomach retches, I barely keep my dinner down. 

Blood and bodies everywhere. Tart wine, mold, decaying flesh.

I choke, hearing my bunkmate stir, keep it down, get a grip, can’t have her seeing me like this. 

To the left, a face in the dark, I can feel ropes in my hands, warm steel.

A voice, an orange rifle.

Murcat!

I come back to my senses, on my side with a puddle of drool under my face. Don’t know how long I’ve been passed out. Checking the clock on the laptop, it looks that I’ve been on the floor for only 10 minutes.

I should just brush it off, this happens too much to pull concern from me. A night’s rest, maybe a nice dream about Old Blighty. But every time I decide to crawl into my cot, the world lurches and the thought remains.

If these visions are real and not just dreams…

I punch the coordinates into my phone and gear up.

Worst case scenario I find a bunch of rats and bad wine, best case scenario, I bring Mr. Pretty Boy back home. 

Please let it be the latter

 

* * *

Sneaking out isn’t too hard, not when I’ve practiced doing it for so long to get the good snacks into base. 

Sun Winery, it isn’t too far off from the watchpoint a quick jog, couple of blinks, and I’m weaving through a field of grapes. My hair stands on end, the air feels like electricity is running through it and heavy with the stench of rotting fruit. 

Harvest is over, the rest is left to die on the vines.

I follow my feet that somehow know where to go. It comes to my mind, back to my mind, like I’ve been here before? A brick entrance, the door wide open, staircase leading down into the darkness. 

Blimey, I can handle the dark, I can handle tight spaces; but dark tight spaces bigger than my fingers? 

No thank you.

My feet urge me forward, my hands gripping tight around my pistols. I click the flashlights on them on, holding them in front to light the way. The path is illuminated in the harsh white light a few meters before me. There’s an empty chair with a pile of cut ropes just right of the bottom of the stairs.

A face, whose face?

True to my dream, there are torches lit on the walls, strange to see such a thing. Dangerous they are, could burn someone, or eat up the oxygen of tight spaces like the one I’m in right now.

Bloody hell, I need to stop. Let’s just get this done. 

It’s just barrels and barrels covered with dirt and spiderwebs. 

It’s all coming back; tart wine, mold

I wrinkle my nose, almost gagging

Decaying flesh

No voices, just the stillness of the damp, musty air and the soft cracklings of the torches. I can’t call out, what if I alert whoever’s in here of my presences. They might have a hostage, might raise the alarm, things could get real bad real fast.

Take it slow.

The sharp smell of blood.

Looking down, I notice what I’ve been tracking for a good distance; bright red footsteps leading back to the staircase. There’s puddles of it everywhere, but no bodies, no drag marks; far too much to be from a single person. 

_ The fuck is going on? _

I press on, trying to keep a lid on the sea of dread endlessly churning away in my gut. Wet splatters decorate the walls, bullet holes, the smell of pulsemunitions; all the signs of a battle except for the distinctive lack of bodies. 

No sound, no one is here.

I decide that it can’t hurt to call out.

“Overwatch agent, is anyone down here?”

I shout into the darkness, hoping for a response but at the same time, hoping it’s just rats and I can just go home. A second passes before a soft moan comes in the distance. It sounds so far away, so weak.

Shite, how big is this place.

My heart leaps, it sounds like a human, could be a zombie like them in the vids, but those are just silly vids. But then again I’m a time traveler, so really, who am I kidding. 

It’s no time to joke, however, I have been told it’s a defense mechanism of mine.

Steel my nerves, I have to be ready to pull the trigger if someone or  _ something _ comes charging out.

“I’ve got guns so unless you have a face full of pulsemunitions, you best come out with your hands up.”

I slowly step forward, the flashlights not reaching far enough to find this mystery person.

It’s muffled but a distinctive ‘help’

My blood runs cold, it is a hostage. I click to a different mindset, get them out safe and sound.

“Don’t worry, love, the cavalry's here! Keep making noise so I can find ya.”

I might be playing to a trap, the whole scene ringing alarms in my head; but I am always one for diving headfirst into danger. I think about it, ain’t any guards, ain't even a lock on the door and if someone’s hurt bad, I have to find them quick. 

Especially if that person’s Murcat. 

Another groan, a garbled ‘here’

I sprint and blink towards the sound, wildly waving the light around me. The chamber is a massive maze of barrels. I try to call it in but my communicator just draws up static. I’m too far underground.

Or there’s a jammer nearby.

Heavy gasps of air

Okay, well, I’m getting closer.

I turn a few more corners but they all look the same. With all my blinking about, I can’t even follow my bloody-

Wait

Another set of footsteps, just like mine. Have I been here before?

No, I haven’t, what?

Am I walking in circles?

I start to panic, is this just another dream, another vision. I’ve lost it haven’t I? I’m stuck down here in a random wine cellar, there’s blood everywhere, hearing voices, don’t even know my left from right. At least they’ll see the coordinates pulled up on my laptop. Hopefully find me down here before I turn into- 

‘-cer’

Oh fuck,  _ and _ the voice knows my name. 

I push the fears away, calming my mind. I need to find the source of this voice, it’s about them, getting whoever the poor sod is out alive. Maybe if I follow my footsteps they’ll lead me to where I left off. 

Deeper and deeper I go, following the red tracks that get lighter with each step and then darker and then light again; as if they keep dipping themselves back into blood. None of it makes sense, how are these tracks doing this, who, bloody hell.

They don’t have breaks in them where I’ve blinked, so they can’t be mine. They don’t leave the same pattern as mine, but I’ve got tiny feet and they’re just my size.

I don’t understand.

I don’t know how long I follow them; left turn, forward two rows, right, 5 rows, another left. Whoever is down here keeps grunting every now and then, it helps to know I’m closing in.

And the dread builds

The smell of piss, puke, and decaying flesh

Until I turn the corner. 

And my lungs locks up

And there stands Fareeha ‘Pharah’ Amari strung up to the ceiling by her wrists covered in head to toe blood, a rag knotted in her mouth.

“Holy fucking shite,  _ Pharah. _ ”


	13. Don't Wait for Me

(WARNING, a bit of gore coming up, skip to next line break if you don’t want it :D)

This can’t be happening.

Trembling, quick fingers, I’m not tall enough to undo her hands.

It’d be rather humiliating if the circumstances were different 

The rag is soaked in blood, she’s missing more teeth than she has left. 

“I’ve gotcha love, just hold on.”

Frantic, cold creeping up my arms, the painfully familiar feeling of shock. Not now, hold it together, I have to help her. 

It hurts to tear myself away from Pharah as I look for anything to use as a step stool. All there are are barrels too heavy for me to move myself, a counter bolted to the wall with tools caked in blood. I almost gag at the sight of a small pile of teeth, her teeth. 

Think, think, think.

There’s the chair at the entrance, it’s so far away though, what if I take too long, what if I get lost, someone might come back. Not enough time, never enough time. I’m not even sure if it’s not bolted to the ground. 

“Fuck, I’ll be right back, love, I gotta grab a chai-”

“No.”

I freeze, her voice like a woodchipper. It looks as if the single word took so much effort to say. She heaves, looking to the ground.

“Your guns, shoot the ropes.” 

She can’t be serious. 

It’s just a trick in vids, it don’t work like that. Not to mention mine are rapid fire and bloody inaccurate. If I were to miss even a few shots.

A grunt, she shifts, I can see flashes of white all along her arms. 

“Do it.” She lifts her head, staring at me with determined eyes. “I trust you.” 

Bollocks, she is serious.

My chest is tight as I pick up my pistols. Even on my tiptoes, the knot is a good 30 cm from my fingers. With the length of pistol, there’ll be about a palm sized gap between the muzzle and the ropes. 

I don’t know how big the cone of fire is at this distance. 

Her eyes silently watch me as I get into position, I do my best not to lean on her for support. The threads of the thick twine are soaked through, her hands are discolored with blotches of purple and black. The fingers don’t move. 

I look away for a moment, bile rising in my throat.

The smell of decaying flesh. 

It’s as high as I can get, I can feel the blood from her skin seeping into my leggings as I press up against her cold body. 

What did they do to you.

Oh Fareeha, love, you didn’t deserve this. 

Hold tight, we’ll make it out of here.  

Have to push through. 

And pray that I don’t do anymore more damage to her.

“You ready?” 

I whisper right next to her neck. She nods against my shoulder, her body tensing.

I look up and pull the trigger. The room lights up with the staccato gunfire and it rattles against my grip. I can’t let it veer off, hold it steady, steady for her sake. Scorched fibers fall onto the both of us, the smell of burning plant fiber. 

Something splatters against my goggles, droplets rapidly coating my vision and face. 

I reel back and nearly grabbing onto her to stop myself from falling. All I see are stars as I wait for my eyes to adjust.

Please, no.

Pharah is panting right above my head, raspy and whistling. I know the sound means when Lander came back with a punctured lung and blood dribbling out the corner of their mouth. My heart sinks, words of regret and apology already forming at the back of my throat.

The knot is halfway blasted away, but her left hand-

“Keep going.” 

I’m speechless when she growls out the words, her mouth agape and dripping with blood. One look of her angry eyes spurs me to get back into position. I want to close my eyes so I don’t have to watch, but I can’t, if I do my aim might go off and…

Don’t think about, just do it.

“Sorry, love.” 

Again, I pull the trigger

Again, debris rains down

Again, wet pellets bounce off my goggles.

She let’s out a sharp cry right before the rope gives way, her shoulders making a sickening crunch as her arms fall to her front. I catch her but my legs can’t bear her full weight. We crash to the ground and i make our landing as gentle as I can. Her tattered chest heaves up and down, gulping in the stale air, eyes screwed shut. 

I give her a moment, cradling her head in my lap as I gingerly work off the last bits of the ropes. Finally up close, I can see the extent of her injuries; whatever that isn’t hidden by a coating of red. 

The rope has dug all the way to the bone around her wrists, the fingers of her left hand...the smell. I swallow, averting my gaze once I get the ropes off. There are deep lash marks all along her skin, a multitude of burns, her neck bears evidence of a tight collar. The right side of her rib cage peaks and separates with every labored breath. Another wave a nausea hits when I see both her legs bent in the wrong direction.

 

* * *

To think she was just standing, forced to either bear the weight on her broken legs or her strangled wrists.

For how long…

She’s so much taller than me but she looks so small in my lap. 

Her breathing has calmed down a bit, I still haven’t seen her move her fingers. I don’t know what to do, how to hold her. She’s nearly double my size, how am I going to get her out of here? 

A shadow passes the torch out of the corner of my eye. In an instant, I lift my pistol and unload a full charge. My arm instinctively curls around to protect her. She presses her face into my legs, whining. 

The dust settles, no sound, nothing but the stone walls.

“We need to move.” I say, mind racing to find a solution.

It’s painfully obvious she can’t walk, she’s barely even conscious with her eyes fluttering open and closed. No communicator, no way I can carry her, I’m running out of options. 

But I think back when I was helping Lucio set up the stage that night, I could carry a speaker and blink, thought me a skive he did. Not a second later, he wanted to try and see if I could blink with him. He puked the moment we touched back down; couldn't handle the pulling. 

It’s a long shot, might even kill her.

But at this point, we’re stuck here and if that shadow is anything.

“Pharah, you’re not gonna like what we’re gonna try.” She cracks her eyes open. So tired, so defeated and clouded with shame.

Bollocks it’s the worse feeling, I know she’s a proud woman, to be reduced to this.

Lucio described the blink as drowning, crushing, falling, thinking he was never going to wake back up. I explain it to her the best I can, trying to brace her for what’s to come.

She doesn’t say a word, just nods.

As ready as one can be.

Swallowing my disgust, I pocket her teeth from the counter, tucking my pistols into the straps of my accelerator. I keep her off her right side, arms wrapped around her battered body. It takes a couple tries to find a hold that hurts her the least. 

My knees buckle the first time I try to stand, striking the stone floor and sending a tremor up my left leg. 

I grunt, one, two, try again.

I just barely pick her off the ground and I blink forward.

A pull, the world blurs, light, wind, solid ground. 

My muscles scream for me to drop her, I hold out long enough to set her gently back onto the ground. 

“How you holding up?” 

We’re both panting, there’s already a sheen of sweat on my brow. Her pupils are blown, skin cold to the touch.

Just like what Zandra said.

Pharah won’t be able to withstand this, there has to be another way. My head darts about but she nudges me with her nose and grunts roughly. 

“Again. I can take it.” 

I want to tell her no.

But we don’t have any other choice. 

My lips tight, I nod, pulling her up to my chest and bracing for another blink. 

One, two, heave

A pull, the world blurs, light, wind, solid ground. 

She’s whimpering when we touch back down, burying herself into my arms. Everything aches, my heart, my body, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s going through right now. We stay for a moment, she calms down.

“Again.” 

It’s growled with her face still tucked away.

Her body tenses.

I don’t know where I’m moving towards, don’t even know if I’m going in the right direction. It’s just instinct and right now, it’s all we have. 

A pull, the world blurs, light, wind, solid ground. 

She doesn’t respond the third time I set her down, doesn’t move or make a sound. Her eyes are closed, breaths shallow. Panic wells in my chest,  put two fingers to her neck and looking for a pulse. 

As fast as lightning, she brings her right arm up and shoves my hand away, eyes wild with fear and anger. 

“I will not break!” 

She shouts, the words misformed from her lack of teeth. I stay stock still, her arm curled around to protect her face. It takes a few blinks for her to recognize me, another wave of humiliation washes over her. 

We can’t keep doing this, it’s going to kill her. 

There are footsteps, our eyes go wide at the sound. I draw my guns and hold them out, listening for whoever is approaching. So quiet, darkness all around us. 

A minute, we barely breathe.

There!

A movement to my right, I fire, leaning so I can shield Pharah from the counterattack. This blasted thing is toying with us.

My heart is pounding in my ears as we wait for the dust to settle, our eyes to readjust.

But it's not a figure.

In the flashlight of my pistol, an industrial cart is easing towards us, sitting above the ground on hoverpads. 

A way to move the barrels. 

Relief flows through me, a stroke of luck? It doesn’t matter because now I have to way to get Pharah to the entrance, to safety. She doesn’t make a comment, takes one look at the thing and immediately looks away. 

I leave her side for a moment and inspect the dolly, fully expecting it to be rigged to explode. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary other than the question of who pushed it towards us. I check around us, peering down the rows.

Nothing

“Piss, I’ll take it,” I guide it over, she flinches away when I stop it next to her. Eyes flick to me and then back to the cart, livid and tear filled.

“No.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Pharah curls up on herself, trying to edge away from it. A bit of frustration flares up in me, it’s our best bet out of here, why is she being stubborn?

“Pharah, you can’t expect me to carry you and blinking is not working out.”

“I am not being put on that thing.” 

And she thinks I want to fucking haul her arse, I can’t! She needs to stop putting up a fight, I’m trying so hard to help.

I lean over to pick her up.

“Pharah-”

“Do not put me back on there!”

The rage filled shierk pierces my heart and stills my hands. I see the tears flowing from her eyes, see the fear, see the hurt. The anger in me washes away. I snap back to myself in the mirror, in the fishbowl and the feeling of betrayal when Winston let them put me back into there. 

_ The shame doesn’t budge, a burden even though they tell me I’m not. A broken person, No hero, lost. Just lost. I want to burrow away and just disappear. Maybe I shouldn’t have fought it, let myself drift away. _

Because right now, in this moment, she is not Pharah; she is Fareeha Amari, a woman who is so strong and so very much alive despite all that she has gone through. 

There’s the look of humiliation again. 

“Okay,” I say softly, wiping the droplets from her face, “How about this, love. I get on with you, like a hoverboard yeah? We’ll ride it together.”

Her eyes stay downcast, a battle raging in her head. But she nods and doesn’t struggle as I carefully set her on the rusty surface.

It’s like a punch in the gut when I finally notice the patches of dried blood on the metal, the dents and grime; how she tries to keep as much of herself off its surface as possible.

I crouch down next to her, not using the handlebar to move us but my feet as I lay half my body onto the cart. Her breathing starts to pick up, I can feel her heart thudding through her back that’s leaned up against my arm. I give her soft pats and strokes on her shoulder.

“Shhh, I’ve got you love. You’re safe, not gonna let anyone else hurt you.” 

My heart aches for her to say something back but I know she won’t. I can’t even hold her hand, can barely touch any part of her without causing her more agony. 

“I’m here for you, Fareeha, you’re gonna be okay.” 

I keep it up, whispering words that have been whispered to me, hoping that they bring her a little comfort too. Step by step, we weave our way through the maze of barrels, going where my feet take me; a route they have seemed to memorize.

It’s not long until we see the chair at the bottom of the stairs, sunlight streaming down the steps.

Wait

It was not even midnight when I left the watchpoint.

Pharah breathes out a sigh of relief, marginally relaxing against my grip. But panic and confusion is sweeping through my mind

How long was I down here?

Just as I’m trying to think of a way to get her up the stairs, a shadow steps into the light at the top. I place my hand on my pistol, ready to draw.

“Overwatch agent, is anyone down here?”

I recognize the voice of Dancer from my squad. A rescue party? 

“Friendly! Don’t shoot, I’ve got an injured with me.” She rushes down the stairs, shotgun poised but lowers it the second she sees me. Robin and Watchdog come down after her. They’re not my favorite people on my squad, but oh does my heart leap to see them now.

“Sight for sore eyes, love.” 

 

* * *

An entire military escort is waiting for us the second our ground transport stops in front of the watchpoint. They demand for us to turn over the lieutenant, I can see how twitchy some of their soldiers are. Either she means a lot to them, or they really don’t like us. 

I watch from my own bed as the medics push her gurney out of the back of the car and down the ramp. She looks back at me, a oxygen tube taped to her face, a small smile.

“Thank you.” 

Truly. I hope she recovers from this.

“Don’t worry about it, love.” 

 

* * *

Seven hours

Pardenilla gave the order to start searching the vineyard at 0530 when no one had seen me in the locker room or on my usual morning jog. It took them 30 minutes to find the cellar, and had to kick the locked door down before finding us. 

But the door was wide open when I got there, the lock blown off.

I could not have been down there for that long, it felt at most 3 hours, but  _ seven. _

It doesn’t add up.

I’m curious if Pharah has any idea, but truthfully, I doubt it considering the circumstances. 

They won’t let me buzz her, won’t fill me in on her condition. I can tell that they want to chastise me for sneaking out, want to desperately pin the blame on me. The fact that they haven’t can mean a host of things.

Maybe they’re not arses

Maybe Pharah cleared my name

Maybe they can finally admit that Overwatch is just trying to help

Or maybe they’re just waiting for the perfect moment to bring us down

I don’t know, I want to talk to her, but I know it’s never going to happen 

 

* * *

They don’t give me any extra leave days seeing I’ve already scheduled for this weekend off.

Pardenilla is a twat sometimes.

Piss, most of the time. 

Turns out, I strained my hamstring at some point down there, which is a surprise since there was never a point where I felt it hurt. They tell me to rest, Zandra tells me not lift anymore 70kg woman while I recover.

I don’t make any promises.

The new couch in Zandra’s apartment is nice and cushy, a murky brown colour to go with the orange drapes. I smirk to myself with self satisfaction; looks like I won that one. The entire living room is decked in an warm palette that reminds me of the leaves in autumn, of warmth and her face.

It’s Saturday night and she confines me to sitting in front of the tele with a cold compress on my leg while she cooks dinner. Cleo is happily sleeping away on the couch behind my head. 

There’s nothing on the news in regards of last night. 

Not even a peep.

Guess the military has their secrets too. 

I glance over to the small doorway that leads to the kitchen, the tantalizing smell of cumin and dill wafting out of it. Above the droning of the news reporter and whatever is sizzling on the pan, I can hear her singing to herself.

Maybe one day I’ll ask her to teach me the words. 

I think it’s guilt that drums in my chest, to think that I am here, mildly comfortable, spending time with my love while there are people out there...Fareeha...Lucio. That I made it out unharmed for the most part and they have…

I shut my eyes, I shouldn't think about it like that. It’s unfortunate, really, but...that’s life. 

Still amazed at how far I’ve come. 

The sound of plates hitting wood pulls me from my thoughts, warm lips pressing against my forehead as I open my eyes. Zandra is smiling down at me, two sets of utensils in her hand, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail.

Yep, still makes my heart leap

“Don’t doze off just yet, you still have yet to try my pigeon.”

“What, no dinner first?” 

I grin, recoiling back as she pinches my arm. She kisses my pouting lips and sets a tray in my lap, her hand lingering on the handles.

“It doesn’t hurt you does it?”

“Only my heart when I look at you, love.”

She pinches me again, I nick a kiss before she can pull away. 

“Piss off and eat your food.” 

I laugh heartily to hear her use the term, feeling a bit smug that I’m rubbing off on her. 

And so we sit in a comfortable silence watching an ancient Charlie Chaplin vid. Mum would always turn these on every time I got stuck in bed with a cold. It brings me back, perhaps a bit too far. 

The empty dishes are set on the table and she has her arms around me. We’re barely able to catch our breaths between howls of laughter. I tilt my head back, resting it on her chest and feeling her trying to regain her composure. I’ve seen this film probably a dozen times, but to watch it with her, to see her smile and laugh at the same things that helped me through the tough days.

And I can see it 10 years from now, on a worn couch with another cat, maybe a hamster or two. 15 years from now, a foster child, one with sharp wits and a wicked right hook. 25 years from now, I can see it all; have seen it all, and I’ve seen it all crumble. 

Her laying in a pool of blood, crushed beneath the rubble of this very apartment complex. Dying in the storeroom at her work with three bullet holes in her back. Motionless with my hands around her throat. 

Every possibility in my nightmares

It hurts, but I’m used to it. 

Reaching up, I snag her in mid breath and pull her down for a kiss, to feel her against my lips.

Maybe for the last time. 

It’s an awkward angle, but it’s  _ us. _

She’s a bit shocked when I let her go, but her eyes so vivid with life. They soften around the edges with a smile. 

I don’t want to lose it.

Spiraling down

“Hi there.” 

Beaming, beautiful, bright

My ray of sunshine

_ Marry me _

The words are dancing on my tongue and it feels so right.

But I don’t say them

And I don’t know why. 

 

* * *

The vid ends, our sides hurt from laughing and I’m playing with her hair that now spills past her shoulders. I had stolen her hair tie and shot it at Cleo who was certainly not amused when it smacked her in the face. 

It’s quiet as we just smile and watch Cleo’s tail sway to and fro, angry eyes locked on me. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you.” 

I start it, thumb rubbing circles on her thigh. She looks down tenderly clasping my hand and pulling it away from her hair. Her lips place a kiss on my knuckles.

“We don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to.”

It’s what I love about her, gentle, compassionate, take it at my own pace. 

“I don’t want to, but we need to.” 

And it’s the hard truth; the big thing straining our relationship, other than the horrible puns we constantly shoot at each other. She nods in reluctant agreement.

First

“Zandra Salam, little miss ‘how about a date’,” she giggles, I smile, “meet Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton, the girl who fell through time.”

The first weight off my chest, she tries my name on her tongue over and over and over again. 

And so we talk, not really knowing where to begin.

But we’ll get there together.

 

* * *

I start with my parents, how my father is in jail for reasons no one will tell me, how my mother is...still out there. She tells me about her own. 

“You’ve met my father. My mother…She’s somewhere out there too I guess. There was an omnic resurgence when I was 12 and her flight of 4 fighters was deployed. They were the hit and run specialists; get in, destroy some key parts, get out. When the AA turret came into view, one had to take the hit so the others could disable it. It was the luck of the draw that it locked onto her. The mother’s plane was shot down over the Mediterranean Sea, ejected, but they never found her body. We haven’t heard from her since.”

I kiss her hand. A small joke that both our mothers are getting plastered in an Irish pub without us. 

And then I try to unravel the massive shitestorm that Overwatch has made my life. 

I start with Angela.

“Angela ‘Mercy’ Zeigler, genius medical brainiac and chief surgeon in Overwatch. She and Winston save me when I first had my accident. I think you would like her, she’s more doctor-y but she knows her way around tech.”

Her hand ghosts over mine that have found themselves stroking the smooth metal of my anchor through the fabric of my shirt. I don’t tell her about the drunken bits, the failed attempt, it’s...not that important. 

“Reyes, don’t know what to make of the guy. First he’s like a broody old brother to me, then an arse biscuit, apparently now he’s a cheery fellow, relatively. Dodgy bloke, part of Blackwatch, the not so pretty part of Overwatch. Don’t know what he does but...He found some bad stuff on Mercy.” 

I explain to her the vids he showed me, the experiments, how he’s told me to stay away from the doctor and then their ultimate ‘make up’. Can’t tell what Zandra makes of it, she looks a bit lost, a bit scared and asks if I was involved in any of it. 

“No, not in his investigation or Mercy’s experiments. But when I was stationed in Mongolia... Things are happening in Overwatch, something bad. I don’t know what or how it’s going to affect grunts like me.”

I don’t tell her about my assignments. How I had to to step into a town square or a restaurant hoping that whoever I was meeting that day didn’t pull a gun on me or worse. How some of the packages I delivered felt soft and warm to the touch. My isolation, my episode with my meds, the emptiness

“And then everything that just happened, the riot, the cult, finding Pharah. Just wish it was simple again, find the baddies, take them out. Don’t really know who to believe now.”

Her head is craned next to mine, angled so she can kiss away the tears on my face. She holds onto my hands and I hold back. 

“Gotta remember that we help people, that’s what we do. We suffer so others don’t have to, die so others can live. We do good work, fight the good fight.”

And she just holds me tighter, so tight that maybe, just maybe, I feel a little less broken. A new thing to fight for, a face to the mass of people I’m so willing to kill and die for.

I’m a sap

I know

Zandra eases herself out from under me, murmuring against my cheek that she’ll put the dishes away and get us some water. Even with her only a few meters away, my legs grow restless and I limp my way into the kitchen behind her. 

She stiffens when I wrap my arms around her waist, clearly not expecting me to have followed. But she doesn’t turn me away and continues to set the dirty dishes into the washer. 

“They appointed me onto the Anubis Quarantine Sector.” 

Her voice is just as hesitant as mine when I first started talking. A hand covers mine, her gaze settling on the kitchen window. I don’t know who or what this ‘Anubis’ is, but if she’s kept quiet for all this time... 

“If they find out I’m telling you this, the punishment is death...for the both of us.”

She turns around and watches for my reaction. The words ring a bit hollow at this point, I don’t if I can die seeing the life I’ve lived, even so, I’m not sure if I’d even care. 

But it weighs heavily in the air, the real question of ‘do you still want to know’. 

“You don’t got to say it if you don’t want to, love.” 

A tender smile graces her lips, no teeth, just sorrowful and apologetic. Our hearts are bleeding together. If only we were normal blokes with normal jobs; ones that didn’t make us keep secrets from each other.

But we’re not

“I want to, but I am not ready to put you in that much danger. If anything were to happen to you.” 

“You’d kill me.”

We both snicker. Solemn to hide the truth. I feel light on my feet, a smile despite the soreness of my eyes. ‘Catharsis’ I remember a professor of mine had said once upon a time.

I trust her with her secret and with mine. 

In one smooth movement she twirls around and scoops me into her arm, taking care not to disturb my leg. I erupt into a fit of giggles when she blows a raspberry into my neck. Despite my efforts, my arms are not enough to pry her face away.

“Zandra! No fair taking advantage of a cripple.” 

And so we easily fall back into it, our incessant teasings, our little pocket of gentle bliss away from the stress of the world. It’s all smiles and laughs here.

“You will have to excuse me, you are just too cute sometimes,  _ habibi.”  _

A yelp leaps from my throat as she tosses me into the air to adjust her grip. I wrap my arms around her neck, pressing myself closer to her body. She carries me out of the small kitchen, heading straight to the bedroom.

“What, off to bed already. Night’s still young.”

Zandra brings her face up to mine, a sly smile dancing on her lips.

“Exactly.”

The intense look, the drop in her voice. A faint blush rises up to my cheeks with a smile of my own as it clicks.

“You on the pull, aren’t cha love.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“One day, you will explain to me all your funny little sayings.” 

The mattress sinks beneath the both of us. Ever so gently, she straightens my leg out before placing fluttering kiss that leave my skin tingling and my lungs breathless. Her golden eyes pierce through the dark room, watching me as I squirm under her feathery lips.

“Don’t think I can do much with this leg of mine.” I say a bit crestfallen, knowing that we had planned this night only for-

Her lips on mine, reassuring, hands sliding up under my shirt. I forget my worries and melt into her touch. A soft moan that she drinks in, fingers pinching at my nipples. 

“Shhh, let me take care of you then, Lena.”

I don’t know how she does it with a simple sentence, a few words and I’m falling arse-over-tit for her. 

It’s a good thing I didn’t promise the doctor to get a good night's rest.

 

* * *

“Do all British people say ‘cheers, love’?”

Her voice is on the edge of sleep, the words murmured as her hand draws lazy circles on my back. 

“Not really. My mum always said it so I just sorta caught on.”

I shrug, about to drift off to sleep myself. 

“Mmmm did she name you Tracer as well?”

I don’t quite know. Morrison said I needed a callsign if I were to fly missions, either something I came up with or my last name. I try to recall whatever spurred me to choose ‘Tracer’ that day and I see are yellow eyes wet tears but full of hope, mirth, pain.

A spike of familiarity.

Zandra is already softly snoring before I can answer. 

 

* * *

Friday.

Lander sent me a message this morning about the new posting, knowing that I wouldn’t be checking the callboard until Monday. I’m being moved to London, Britain this Friday.

Not we, not my squad, just me. 

‘Don’t want to ruin your weekend with your lady, but thought you should know. Make the most of it, Tracer.’

I just sit in the corner of the bathroom, clutching my phone. My chest feel tight, my face hot and I’m staring at the door. The sobs that I choke back echo in the the small room. 

Ragged breathes, I’m falling all over again.

Empty, so empty.

Zandra comes in to find me on the ground, rushing to my side with worried eyes.

I tell her, trying my best to stay positive. 

Because we knew this was coming.

And with every tear, every sweet nothing we say in our small voices

We’ll try to make it work

That I’ll be back some day.

Maybe one day she could travel with me.

But we know that it’s just that; sweet nothings.

With her job, she will never be able to follow me. With what she knows, the government will never let her go. 

And so she carries me back into bed, pressing soft kisses to my face, my neck, everywhere to distract me. Despite staying up until the early hours of the morning, we spend the next hours making gentle love, making promises we know we can’t keep.

I cry out against her, from pleasure, from the tightness in my chest; the hopelessness of it all. 

If only I could just belong to her and not the entire world.

She gasps against me, shuddering as I pour out my entire heart for her, for us.

And so we spend brunch quietly eating our sandwiches in each other’s arms on the couch, Cleo blissfully ignorant on our laps. She still teases me for spilling sauce onto my shirt, I still tease her for once again putting too much cumin onto the chicken.

There’s a ring at the door, Zandra gets up from under me to answer it. It’s probably her work or the post. But after she thanks whoever it was and comes back with a mobi-chair and a huge grin, I can’t help but smile back.

‘Called in a few favors.’

With a handful of things packed up, sunblock slathered on and a horrendous sun hat on my head, we set off into downtown.

We laugh, hold hands as we travel down the crowded street that parts for us. No one recognizes either of us behind our ridiculous shades we bought from the tourist shop on the corner. She brings me to places she used to visit with her family, we watch kids play in the fountain, try to smear the most ice cream onto each other’s noses.

There’s a photobooth that’s just big enough to fit my hat into. It’s important that we got it in the pictures. 

We spend far too much money than either of us would like to admit at the arcade. For an engineer, she’s a pretty good shot with a pellet gun.  

A quick hop onto a train and we’re watching the city whizz by in a blur of tan and white; a plushie scarab beetle in my lap, her hand in mine. My face hurts from hours of smiling, but I just look at her again and I can’t help myself.

It’s the first time I meet her uncle and brothers and it’s obvious that tallness runs in her family. 

“Or maybe you’re just short,  _ ya amar.” _

They all laugh as I pout. As payback, I twist away from her the next time she leans down to kiss me.

They give me a tour of their farm, their handful of orchards and let me try some fresh grapes right off the vine. We spend an early dinner there with grilled fish, rice, and too much cumin. 

The sun is low in the sky as we make our way back into Cairo. 

“Today was amazing, love.” 

She smiles and it takes my breath away. 

“It is not over just yet.”

I raise my eyebrow but she doesn’t answer, just mirrors the action with a smirk. Don’t question her, content with feeling her thumb stroking the back of my hand and watching the scenery change of the greenery of the river banks to the lights of the city. But we don’t go straight into town, instead, taking a detour to the edge.

The taxi pulls into the lot of a small airport. 

My heart is in my throat.

“Zandra…you know I can’t fly anymore, they won’t even let me anywhere close to the cockpit of the transports.” I stammer out.

She leads me over to a single plane hanger. One swipe of a keycard and the bay door starts to rise up. My hands are trembling against the control pad of the mobi-chair, my other hand clasping over my mouth as it falls open in disbelief. 

The lights of the bay stream out and I’m speechless when I see it. 

A pristine UK Dragonfly, just like the one my mother taught me how to fly in. 

“I- I”

I can’t, I’m crying and smiling and choking and looking to her with a grin so impossibly wide. 

“I did a lot of research and made a lot of calls to Winston. I’ve been working on it for a while, changing out meters and controls that had even the slightest possibility of malfunctioning with your anchor. Together we triple checked everything and I had someone do some test runs with a spare anchor he sent me.”

I run my hand along the side of the plane, remember how mum would hoist me into the cockpit and pretend to let me fly when I was a little lad. She told me that one day, I would soar over and watch over the people below me, their guardian in the sky. 

“It has the option of switching off the feet rudders for hand controls, which is very fortunate for the circumstances. I was supposed to bring you here next weekend but... If you’d like, we’re all cleared to fly tonight.”

I pull her down onto me for a harsh kiss, not caring about the sharp spike of pain that shoots up my leg as she tries to steady herself. I’m crying into her shoulder and she’s hugging me back. 

Too good, she’s too good to me. 

“I hope that means a yes.”

I hug her even tighter.

“Yes, yes, bloody fucking hell  _ yes.” _

The moment she helps me into the pilot seat and straps me in, I pull her down for another deep kiss. I take her hand in mine and put it on my chest next to the anchor, hoping that she can feel the thudding of my heart.

“You, you’re doing this to me, love.” I say quietly, feeling her press her hand in a bit. “Thank you, for everything, I don’t know what to say.” 

Zandra just smiles and take my hand and puts it to her heart. It’s thundering just as hard as mine.

“And you do this to mine everyday, every time I see you in the morning and hear your voice, your laugh, your adorable but confusing slang. Every little bit of you Lena.” 

She climbs into the seat behind me, handing me a helmet and strapping herself in.

“If you don’t know what to say, then just fly,  _ ya amar. _ ” 

It’s all muscle memory, the flicking of the switches, checking of the meters. I can tell things have been replaced, but barely; they’re made to look as close to the original as possible. Zandra always had an eye for detail.

There is even a small slip of paper taped to my side with the information of the call tower and the plane,  _ our plane _ . 

My heart is racing as we pull out of the hanger and into the runway cast in the hue of a setting sun. 

“Belkas tower, Dragonfly 163 Tracer, ready at Runway 10.”

The towers gives me a rundown of the wind currents, other planes in the air, and a few more readings before we’re cleared to approach the center of the runway. 

“Dragonfly 163 Tracer, this is Belkas Tower, you are cleared for take-off on Runway 10.” 

It’s music to my ears.

And so we start, the familiar roar of the old style engines, and rumbling of the tarmac below us. In a few breathless seconds, the plane tilts up and catches the wind and we’re  _ flying _ .

The lights below us grow smaller and the plane levels out above the expanse of sparkling city lights. I set my phone to record the flight, had half the mind to buzz Lucio but I’m feeling a tad selfish. He’ll have to be happy with a vid, I want this moment alone with Zandra

The Red Sea comes into view, painted orange and red by the sun. It’s shimmering surface and the bridge that cuts across it. Impossibly light, soaring higher and higher and I hear her breath of awe over the radio. 

_ We talk about the skies, where we’ve flown, how beautiful the water looks when high above _

“I never thought I'd ever fly again.” 

I whisper out, aching to touch Zandra in anyway, to feel her pulse race with mine. 

“Neither did I. I am that glad it is with you, Lena.” 

And like that, with just one sentence, my heart breaks, unable to hold in everything she has given me. All I can do is just smile and watch the world below us slowly fade into the darkness of the night. 

And it feels so right.

“Me too, Zandra. Me too.”

We fly in silence, basking in the mutual awe of being kilometers high in the sky until I regain some of my confidence. I tell her to hold on and dive into some simple maneuvers and tricks. My heart soars higher than any plane could ever take me to hear her giggle and laugh with exhilaration. May not be a dancer, but in the air with the wind as my music, I sure can bust a move. 

I can’t see her face but I sense it. Her brilliant smile, blazing eyes, a woman who deserves the world. 

_ Please let it stay like this, not forever, I know, but for just a bit longer.  _

But we both know it’s not the case. 

As the fuel reserves run low and we touch back down, I cannot help but feel my heart sinking just like how the plane sinks in altitude. Back to Earth, to our lives down here and away from our little pocket of gentle of just smiles and laughs. 

We stand there for a moment, watching the doors close and the lights shut off. 

And so we take a taxi back to her flat and take the time to carefully put everything away, spending every moment we can shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. We feed Cleo, watch her play with the little mouse bot, wash the dishes, put the clothes into the hamper. 

The world spins, the smell of spices and soap when I walk into the bathroom.

She presses against my back, toned arms wrap around my waist. 

There are candles.

A bathroom, a tub, gentle strokes on my hands. 

Another pair of legs frame mine.

I can feel her breathe and words murmured into the back of my neck, little sweet nothings and promises that we cannot keep. 

Like a distant memory, somewhere I have been before. But my body is tired and she is warm and the water is warm. We stay until our fingers grow wrinkled and the candles are running out of wick. 

Into bed, into each other's arms with Cleo at our feet.

“I love you.”

My heart leaps and gets caught in my ribs.

“I love you too.”

Because we are here

And it feels so right. 

 

* * *

It feels like death as the days tick by.

I’m back on my normal routes. Pardenilla says I’ll be tasked with some undercover work in London, but she’s not in charge of it so she doesn’t know the details. I’ll be assisting Blackwatch who specifically requested me. Makes me dread the assignment even more.

Lucio flips when he sees the vid, he wants me to take him flying one day. 

‘No promises’ I tell him, but he just laughs. 

He grows quiet when I fill him in on my injury, glossing over my little investigation, ending with my abrupt transfer to London. He tells me I’m a hero, that I’m probably in Amari’s good book for life for saving her daughter. Says I better leave some beer for him when he comes to visit me in Britain. 

We haven’t heard anything about Murcat for months. 

I still meet with Zandra every morning, we pretend the inevitable is not coming; as if we don’t talk about, it won’t happen. With every meeting, every call and video stream, I can feel the strain in her voice and mine. Each kiss like it’s our last, our calls ending with ‘I love you’ and ‘See you tomorrow’. 

11 months, nearly a year, the longest relationship I’ve ever held onto. 

Down to Thursday night where stay up and stream with her during her breaks. Down to Friday morning where with a lot of coaxing, Zandra is cleared to be in the yard as we wait in silence for it to come. 

She doesn’t leave my side, the duffle bag on my back grows heavier each second. I don’t care if our palms are sweaty against each other or how the soldiers that mill around us glance our way. We might as well be staring at death itself when the transport touches down and kicks up a cloud of dust and sand.

Something gets into our eyes and we’re both crying. 

The ramp comes down, the last person I expect it to be stepping out.

Captain Ana Amari strides down the the metal, clad in her dress blues rather than her usual field attire. The shock quickly wears off and I snap to attention but I can’t bring myself to untangle my fingers from Zandra’s. Amari salutes back and raises a brow at my hand. Her eyes are soft but her lips are pressed thin, can’t tell what she’s thinking. 

“Tracer, I’d like to personally thank you for rescuing my daughter from the mess she got herself into.” The words are harsh and stinging. 

“Thank you ma’am.” there is no pride in it, just formality, “If I may ask, how is she doing?”

“I wouldn’t know.” 

I flinch back, feeling Zandra’s hand tighten as well. It’s not the tone I’m used to hearing from the Captain’s mouth. 

“The transport will take you to London. I have matters to attend to here.”

With that, she doesn’t spare me another glance. She does spot to regard Zandra for a moment, giving her a pat on the shoulder before walking off towards the watchpoint. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, my nerves just a bit frayed at the ends. 

And so this is it, the moment that we had been avoiding for the last week. A few minutes left, too many words to say. 

Never enough time.

“I’ll wait for you.” 

It hurts for me to shake my head, to kiss her knuckles and whisper against scars I’ve memorized so long ago.

“No love, please don’t.” 

Because we both know it’s true. 

Sweet nothings.

I want to cry, want to lament on how bloody cruel the world is. I just want to be happy, for her to be happy. I want so much in life, maybe to leave all of this behind.

But the world needs more heroes. 

“Another lifetime.”

I smile so wistfully, holding her face to mine. 

“Another universe.”

“ _ Enta Habib _ i(You Are My Love),  _ Enta Hayati _ (You Are My Life). Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton, until tomorrow.”

I kiss her for the last time.

“Until next time, Zandra Salam; little miss ‘how about a date’.”

And she kisses me with tight arms and wet eyes.

I have to pry myself out of her arms, drag myself up the ramp and stand at the top watching her watch me with bright, tear filled eyes.

But we smile, one last two-finger salute, one last bag of dates in my hand. 

And I get on the plane, strap myself in, and wave.

She waves back

The door closes

The plane takes off

And so I’m gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRRYYY. I cried a bit writing this. Just a bit.


	14. Britain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I’m messing with the timeline a wee bit. Let’s just say Mondatta gets assassinated before the recall. Hope that doesn’t give too much away.

There’s no one to greet me, no commander to salute, no buzz of my communicator. 

Just a blank envelope in the middle of a rooftop.

The pilot told me that it was where the orders directed her to drop me off, no other explanation, nothing. Just get in, boot me, get out. 

“C’mon love, I know you got more for me.”

I give her a wink and a nudge, maybe she’s holding out.

“Orders are orders. I can’t tell you something I don’t know.”

She just jerks her thumb to the door. My shoulders slump a bit, so much for that. 

So here I am, sitting on the ledge of a five-story building with my legs dangling off the edge, looking over the bustling streets of London. Don’t want to open the mysterious envelope just yet, it’s a nice day; well for British weather. The smell of asphalt, someone having a smoke; the tang of rusty metal and questionably wet air. 

It’s home, I am home 

I just take a moment, learn how to breathe, and just relax a bit. Done enough crying in the last week, a fresh start this is. I could just toss the envelope, disappear into my old stomping grounds and away from all this madness. 

I quite fancy the idea.

But I got a duty, don’t I?

The envelope is heavy in my hands, something like a stack of papers in it. I tear it open with slight apprehension. 

A letter, a map with markers, an ID sticker, couple of credit chips.

I don’t even need to read what's on the encrypted letter to know what it all implies. Blackwatch is mighty dramatic aren’t they?

The pilot had given me a set of numbers for me to punch into my phone, saying I’ll be needing them later. Put two and two together; a letter of garbled symbols, some code, let’s try it.

I punch in the string of numbers and letters and the camera app instantly opening. Odd, but I guess that’s what’s gonna translate the mess I guess.

And sure enough, like something out of spy vid, the random scribbles turn into actual words on the screen of my phone. Wicked stuff, still, a bit over dramatic; but it’s Reyes’ we’re talking about. 

The letter’s pretty much what I expected; follow some people, move some stuff, stay in these certain hotel rooms on these certain days, blah blah blah, stick data chips up my arse. It’s like Mongolia all over again.

Which means I was doing Blackwatch stuff without even knowing it. 

But the extent of this is staggering. They give me a rundown of my new ‘persona’; Ellen Hakim; daughter of Roxanne Tamsyn and Rayyan Hakim, more bullshite I’ll have to memorize. 

Funny, they got me as a taxi driver, it’ll be a nice cover I guess. 

It’s all fun, take it light, make a game out of it and don’t think about how many people are going to be affected negatively by my actions. Focus on the good, yeah? Helping people, that’s what I do.

Until I get to the bottom of the page and see a set of names with the title that makes my stomach shrivel up like a kicked pup.

‘Targets to be eliminated by next data drop’

 

* * *

The room they got me tonight is decent, situated on the better end of the town; the side that don’t smell like piss. 

I can’t stop staring at my screen, hands shaking and teeth grinding, going over the two people I’ll need to kill by the end of this month. I can’t believe it. 

Peg Marleen

Quin Morley

Just names, not faces, not lives. Names. Have to remember that, they pose some kind of threat to the safety of others. It’s them or the innocent. 

I close my eyes, breathe a lung full of chilled air. 

I keep telling myself the line and Lucio and I have made our motto

I’m doing good work.

Fighting the good fight.

But the frustration surges over. 

Fuck, no, I’m not, someone has to answer the storm of question in my head. I’m not going to let this be Mongolia all over again. 

Why me, why here, why now?! They can’t just drop me here, give me a list and expect me to do it no question. Does Morrison know of this, Ana, anyone else?

The captain knows at least, maybe, she did pass me in Egypt. 

But she didn’t tell me shite. 

Bet it’s a test, supposed to refuse to show I have a speck of morals. Or follow without question, weed out the disloyal.

Blood hell, can’t do this.

I call Reyes on my communicator, a fit of annoyance nesting in my chest. He’ll have answers, won’t let him push me around.

It rings once before he picks up.

“What.” 

“Listen here you twat, you don’t just drop me into the bloody middle of London a vague envelope and list of people I need to fucking kill-”

“You have orders, follow them.”

“Toss me a bone! I ain’t cut out for this-”

“You were picked because you are capable. Unless you want to prove that notion wrong, I suggest you do what you’re told and reserve your communicator for emergencies only.”

“You’re not listening you bloody-”

“Tracer. Do as you’re told. I expect a report from you at the end of the month.”

The line is cut and I wish it was on my phone so I could toss it out the window. I scream in defeat and irritation. 

Take it all back, all the good things I’ve said about Reyes, has stick up his arse he does, big stick, flaming stick and a daft cow for a mother!

I toss anything not bolted down around the room, throwing haphazard punches into the pillow. Don’t matter, Overwatch is paying for this room, not me, could piss in the corner if I wanted to. The urge to cry is beaten out by the urge to just  _ hit something _ . 

That’s it, I’ve definitely gone nutters, not gonna take more of this shite. I thought I was done with this, can’t believe I expected more from Blackwatch. Gonna grass on ‘em I will, head to the news station first thing tomorrow morning. 

Fuck Overwatch

Fuck Blackwatch

Fuck Reyes and Morrison and Amari

They haven’t done shite for me. I didn’t sign up to blindly follow orders, did it to help people and killing people without knowing  _ why  _ ain’t it. 

Won’t let them just use me and toss me aside. 

The room is a disaster zone, there’s a thumping beneath my feet, someone has heard my commotion and is pounding on their ceiling to shut me up.

“Piss off!” I shout back. 

Angry tears roll down my face, my chest caving in. I don’t know what to do, who to turn to. Maybe tell Winston, maybe Lucio, Angela? What can they do, none of the are anywhere near the big wigs up top.

Just  _ why _ me.

 

* * *

The night is a tad chilly, I pull my coat closer to myself. Should be feeling good that I’m back, but I don’t, just bitter. Don’t know why I do it. No, I know exactly why.

Cause I’m so wound up not even Angela’s pills are gonna calm me down. 

In and out with a couple prerolled puffs and 14 grams of green. 

Old habit, probably against company policy, especially while on an assignment like this. 

But it burns, and it hurts, and it feels so right. 

 

* * *

I don’t go to the news station in the morning. Try to give myself some sort of excuse; it’ll cause a political shitestorm, no one will believe me, I’ll be seen as a traitor by all my friend.  

In the end, it’s plain and simple.

Overwatch owns me, it’s my life, why I still fight.

Give me something to believe in, a cause to believe in.

I just have to trust that whoever is calling the shots knows what they’re doing. 

Don’t make it much easier to swallow though.

Wake up, shower, toothbrush

Plan out my route today, a meeting with a ‘Waller’ at a bank, a package on the corner of First and Sixth.

Get dressed, cup of tea, breakfast

The two names burned into my mind. Not faces, just names. How am I even going to know it’s them. What, ask every lad on the street for their name and shoot the right one in the face?

Pills, mirror, smile Lena

I can’t, I just scowl and zip up my jacket to hide the accelerator. Got orders to pretend i’m not an agent and like hell I’m gonna be caught without my accelerator.

Another bloody day.

Waller smiles when he sees me, going in for the customary hug and a kiss on the cheek. I shove him back with a hand, waiting for him to give me whatever he has for me. A look of utter shock crosses his face, like he expected me to be some fucking fairy. 

I’m in such a piss mood that I don’t even bid him farewell as he hesitantly says ‘Cheers, mate.’ to my back. 

 

* * *

Time passes, the package is delivered without incident. Without a task, I go on to finding out more about my ‘spy on’ list and my ‘piss on’ list. Can’t find anything special on the names under ‘spy on’ using my laptop; normal people leading normal lives. 

Not bad, just gonna be watching them anyways, but then I search up one ‘Peg Marleen’.

Jewelry store owner, couple shops under her name. Senior citizen, no immediate family, no crime record. Big donor to medical studies, father died of cancer. 

I stop, unable to read the rest of the heartbreaking article when she dropped 2 million credits for research that led to a breakthrough that would’ve saved her father’s life.

A good person, why does she need to die. 

Must be why they didn’t give me any info on ‘em, knowing makes it harder. 

Just name, just orders.

I sleep, clutching Zandra’s shirt close. I never told her that I stole it. 

 

* * *

It’s a two weeks in when it happens. 

Only got one task today, sit in Greenwich Park.

That’s it, just sit there. East side, West side? Piss if I know. 

Don’t say when to start or stop, wanted to call up Reyes and tell him off again for the bloody ambiguous instructions.

But I don’t, I just pack a bag of food and stake out beneath a tree with a flute and some sheet music. Angela always said I should keep my mind sharp and mum wanted me to be a musician before I decided to become a pilot. It can’t be too late to start, especially when you’re a time traveler. 

And so that’s how my day goes; In the park, doing my best to reach all the notes with my small hands and noshing on a sandwich when I get hungry. There’s a restroom nearby, an ice cream trolley that comes by every hour or so. 

It’s almost nice

I get the song decently down by the afternoon, able to play it for the most part without have to stop every few notes. By the time the sun is beginning to set, there’s a bit of pride in my chest the first time I get it right all the way through. 

Suddenly, there’s someone clapping and climbing up the hill I’m sitting atop of. It’s a woman, about my height, tad bit younger than me by the looks of it. She’s smiling and it catches me off guard. 

“Hey, I walked by you this morning on my way to class and to hear your progress, have you been here all day?” 

Oh no, Lena, don’t get attached. Don’t you dare, you know what happened last time. 

Can’t help it, I’m a sucker for birds with pretty smiles, besides, maybe she’s not trying to chat me up.

“Ye, had the day off, reckon I’d get some air and practice.” 

“Sounds like you definitely got somewhere. I’m part of a live band that plays at the Crosses Pub every friday night, maybe you should swing by and let me get you a pint.” 

A pint does sound brilliant idea right now. But I’ve been down that road and I am in no mood to go down it so soon. It still stings when I think of her. Something, when I smell cumin in the air, I turn around to tease her about her cooking.

But she’s never there

I’m a sap

I know

“Cheers, love, but maybe another time.” 

She nods, a bit disappointed but stands to leave all the same. 

“Yeah, well, if you change your mind, ask for Quin Morley and maybe we’ll chat.” 

The colour drains from my face as she winks and sets off. Like the world fades away and it’s just her, happily strolling away. A walking corpse, she’ll have to die by my hands by the end of this month.

I pack my things, feeling dirty like I’ve been set up. This nice woman, a student, probably no more than 21. Is that what I’m good for, a sweet face to distract them from the knife behind my back. 

My heart is heavy when I flop down on the bed, a smoldering puff in my hand. It almost makes it all better. 

 

* * *

Friday comes up and I look at whatever tasks I have for the day and I just knew what it was before I read it. Been dreading it all week. 

I want to toss everything out the windows all over again. 

Move sign in front of Maxi Make-up 10 centimeters east, and ask for Quin Morley at Crosses Pub. 

 

* * *

My hands are shaking, I’m watching the news on my laptop, a tragic story. 

Freak accident, someone tripped and fell into ‘entrepreneur Peg Marleen’, slamming her head into the sign outside of Maxi Make-up. She died on the way to the hospital. 

The sign that I moved this morning. 

Not a coincidence is it, did I just alter fate?

Or am I unwittingly a part of a bigger machine at work here?

I don’t think about it, she’s dead now, the job is done. That’s all that matters, looked like an accident, not my fault. She was old, would’ve died sooner or later yeah? 

A wave of nausea, I don’t want to do this anymore. 

But I have to. 

Night is approaching, two birds in one day, Quin will be playing at Crosses Pub tonight. 

Pistol tucked in my pants, accelerator under my coat, I make the dreadful trip to end another life. 

 

* * *

Streets are alive, perks me up a bit. I pass a lad I went to school with, we chat and he offers to buy me a pint so we can catch up. I decline, best he doesn’t get involved. 

I want it to feel like home, like I’ve taken time off from saving the world to just live in peace. Hear the chatter, smell the food, feel the chilly air. 

The sign for Crosses Pub comes up the next corner I turn, the illusion shattered. A girl in there is about to die. The all important question of ‘why’ left to be answered. 

I do as I am told, ask the bouncer outside for a ‘Quin Morley’. She looks at me funny but tells me to wait on the side while she says something into her radio. A minute later and the same woman from the park steps out.

Dirty blond hair, cropped jacket popped open, white tank top, shimmering gold necklace. 

“You turned up.” 

She might be a Talon operative, might be one of their informants. Maybe she has dirt that’ll help me and help Overwatch. 

I never get to reply to her smile. 

A crack of thunder, a flash of red.

She on the ground with a hole in her head.

Poetic...almost

Panicked steps back, my hand itches for the pistol in the small of my back, but if I pull it out it’ll open a whole new can of worms. The bouncer is speechless, wide eyed, people are screaming.

And all I can see is her face on the ground, staring up at me. Not a second ago smiling and full of life. My hands are numb but...it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

I didn’t kill her

I didn’t pull the trigger

Not even sure if I had anything to do with it. 

Breathe, coppers come, take a statement, the scour the area. Nothing. 

It’s guilt, betrayal, disgust in myself.

To think when it happened, to watch her die in front of my eyes; to feel at ease knowing someone was watching my back and took the shot. 

 

* * *

It gets easier and I hate myself more and more. 

The month ends, the report is made, no one has run my communicator since my call with Reyes.

Alone, isolated, but not so. I’m working with others, I can feel it, just don’t know who.

Second month, another hideout, another letter waiting for me on the bed. No words of congratulations, just another list. 

Like a well oiled machine we’re able to take down mark after mark without having to talk to each other. A moved post here, an open manhole there.

Makes me think of all those ‘accidents’ I see on the news. How many of those...

I have a lot of downtime in between little tasks. One day a set of keys show up and an empty taxi cab outside the hotel lobby. It’s mine, a set of instructions on how cabbies work, a frequency on the radio that’s marked with ‘emergencies only’.  

Pretend that I’m a driver, toting people about, hearing their stories. 

Quite a few of them too.There are blokes with abusive lovers, I bring ‘em to the station down the road, tell them to please get help. There’s a special sort of relief I feel when I watch the news and recognize someone I’ve helped.

When it rains and I don’t got a passenger, I pick up kids walking home from school. Charge them a smile and send them on their way. 

One of them gave me a sticker of a rabbit, put it on my pistol.

A reminder

Another month, more deaths.

It gets easier.

 

* * *

I look over at the sleeping form on the hotel bed. She was pretty, cute with adorable dimple and a laugh too loud for her small frame. 

It was a fun night, she didn’t care that I was an Overwatch agent, didn’t really care about anything. Enough to keep my mind busy.

But it’s dangerous to become attached.

And so I slip into whatever remained of my shirt, zip up my pants and shimmy on my coat, placing a soft kiss onto her cheek. 

The night is cold, and I am alone again.  

 

* * *

It’s the the third month when she gets into my cab. 

“Evening, love, where we heading off to tonight?” It’s easy to slip on the cheery mask, don’t need to focus on what going on in my head, just whoever I’m driving and where they need to go. 

“My, aren’t you lovely,  _ cherie” _

I tense up, glancing at the rearview to see who the hell I just picked up. Piercing yellow eyes, a playful smirk but her face is hidden by the darkness. Don’t know why I feel nervous, the pounding in my heart, like I’ve met her before. My mouth goes dry as I pull out from the curb but the words come easy.

“It’s been a good day, hope yours was one too.” 

“It is better now that I’m with you.”

Good thing it’s dark and she doesn’t see the blush on my cheeks. Smooth, hate smooth birds, they always get me. I just keep driving.

“So, got a destination in mind?” I try again, my eyes keep darting to the mirror, she’s always staring back at me when I do. It’s beginning to make me squirm in my seat. 

“Non, just drive.” 

This is a dangerous game, she sounds downright deadly, like she could kill me with by uttering a word. Heard plenty of stories on the telly of cabbies being murdered. My necks a bit sweaty, my palms are slick against the steering wheel. I can’t shake the feeling, wherever it came from, it’s here to stay. 

And I hate to admit it.

But the thrill is amazing.

To be kept on my toes with this ruse, not a firefight, just a scrimmage of wits.  

“Tell me, what has you so happy.” 

Her voice is smooth like silk. I can hear it though, a hint of mockery, like she thinks she’s better than me. I bristle up, two can play at that game love. 

“The little things; morning jogs, nice cup of tea, the face of a cat when you annoy it just right.” I smirk, unsure if she can see it, “and how are you, love?”

The woman doesn’t answer. She’s staring out the window but when I peer out, nothing’s there. I decide to just shut my mouth, no need to get over involved if I don’t have to. 

“Left at the next light.” 

I glance back, she’s still looking out the window. Shrugging my shoulders, I pop the signal and ease into the lane. Piss, Frenchies are weird. 

“Turn into the alley on the right.” 

Like a wildfire, apprehension blazes across my back. This is bad, real bad, my eyes flick to the radio and the ‘emergencies only’ channel. I let out a nervous chuckle.

“Can’t do that, company policy.”

“Non, you can and you  _ will.” _

It sends a windstorm of emotions through me; first she’s bloody rude, forced politeness, and strangely enough, a bit of arousal. 

It’s different with a commander or arse biscuit Reyes is barking orders, but this woman with a hint of danger and a tone that leaves no room for question. Disappointed with myself but I can’t deny the feeling. 

To turn or not to turn.

I pull into the mouth of the alley and stop the car, halfway in, halfway out. Feeling a bit smug and mischievous, I swing an arm over and turn around to look at the nameless woman. 

She’s staring at me with an impassive face but the twitch in her eyebrow gives away her annoyance. I still can’t make out her face. Bet she’s gorgeous with a voice like that.

“Thanks for riding the Hakim Express, that’ll be 12 credits, love,” 

An indignant scoff. Without anything more, she opens the door and steps out into the street, suitcase in hand. Bit of a piss that she didn’t pay me but the seconds of fun I had just messing with her, don’t really care. 

“Cheers, love!” 

I’m sure she heard me, but she doesn’t react. Heart fluttering, toes tapping, a feeling of giddiness that I can’t explain. I pull out of the alley, deciding that I was done for the night. 

Might’ve found myself a new hobby.

If she ever dares to step into my cab again. 

 

* * *

And so I get better at it, start being able to pick out when my marks are being set up for their end. Most of them are accident; a sign falling down, peanuts accidently being put in their food. 

It’s not so bad, the telly says that the crime rate dropping in London, police are scratching their heads. I don’t question it, we’re all just trying to do what we think is right.

It’s when they’re not accidents that it gets me. It’s always the same scenario.

Supposed to meet someone on my list, supposed to have dinner with them, give them a smoke; simple little things, things that aren’t supposed to kill them.

Then a crack of thunder.

And they’re dead.

Always the same flash of red.

Five months pass like this

Coppers are calling it a serial killer, they started to question me ‘til it happened to other people. At random but the looks of it, a meet up, a dead person. Whoever this killer is, I can always feel her watching me, following me.

Makes me feel safe, like a guardian angel in the sky. 

Until I’m in the park again, playing my flute before I set off on spying on a couple marks, any ‘ol day. But my communicator buzzes. For the first time in five months, a voice and not a letter, the voice chimes ‘Reyes’ and my chest tightens, honestly a bit annoyed that he interrupted my quiet time. 

Good news, bad news?

“Yeah?” 

“Tracer, watch your back, there is someone in London that is targeting Overwatch agents.” 

I blatantly scoff at the seriousness of his tone.

“Piss, what of it. I’ve been shot at plenty of times, makes things interesting.”

There’s a pause, I think about just hanging up on him and finishing my song.

“Have you been in contact with any other agents?”

“Negative, just you the last time I called you.” 

I smile fondly at the memory, felt good to tell him off. Was mad at him for a bit, it’s not so bad now though. I get to do whatever I want when I want, apart from my little list of tasks. Pretend to live a normal life.

Watch as whoever this sniper is shoot down my marks in front of me. 

“Report to the London watchpoint, I’m taking you off your assignment-”

“Piss off Reyes, I’m doing great, don’t need no vacation.” I snap back, he’s treating me like a child; I’m doing what he told me, what’s his fucking problem? 

“Agents who stay in the field too long aren’t they same when they come back, you should have been relieved by another runner two months ago. I will hold someone accountable for this oversight.”

Anger flares up, a familiar fire that burns my throat and begs to be spat out; a snarl, a pounding of my head, clenched fists. It’s nasty, I know, feels like I’ve been living with a short fuse lately but maybe I’ve just grown tired of all the bullshite going on.

“Oh, so now you care you bloody twat. Where were you when I was crying in my room when my mark was shot dead while she was still  _ fucking _ smiling at me. You don’t get to fucking care after abandoning me, Reyes!” 

It hurts as it all comes up, the emotions I’ve kept quiet for all this time. Different from my time in Mongolia, got to talk to Pardenilla about every week then, but that was due fact that things kept going to shit. 

But here, I don’t need Reye’s pity or his doting, I’m a perfectly capable agent who don’t need his arse pushing me around. Ain’t gonna let him cock-up my assignment.

“Lena-”

“No! You of all people don’t get to use my name. I’ve got orders and I plan on completing them.” 

It feels mighty good to hang up on him. I’m still angry; at him, at this mission, at the fact I still don’t know what the fuck is going on. I’ve made my peace, nothing matters except getting my tasks done. 

Things to deliver

People to spy on

Marks to kill

 

* * *

Every now and again I get an informant that thinks they’re a hotshot. They go for their pants and I wait for them to pull a gun before grab their arm, hoist them up, blink, and then flip them to the ground. 

They’re usually sitting in a puddle of vomit the second we touch back down. 

Sometimes, if there’s no one to call the coppers, I truss ‘em up leave ‘em there; it’s not my job to deal with snakes. Put it in my report, trust that someone else will come by to pick them up.

Sometimes, When I’ve had a good day and they shit on it, or a bad day and they make it worse; I put ‘em out of their misery. 

Overwatch doesn’t need traitors who threaten the safety of both agents and civilians. 

They’re just more tragedies.

 

* * *

Wake up, shower, toothbrush

Plan out my route today, Skyler West at the subway station on 57th, they’re going to die today. A crooked smile, guilty glee.

Get dressed, cup of tea, breakfast

I miss Lucio, miss Angela and Winston and my old squad.

I miss Zandra, the shirt stopped smelling like her long ago but I still hold it at night.

Pills, mirror, smile Lena

It will pass

I will get easier

 

* * *

I don’t tense when I feel the hairs on my neck prickle, don’t search for the sniper that is laying waiting somewhere on the rooftops. After five months, I feel like I can trust them. 

I wonder how much they’ve been watching me, I sometimes feel their eyes when I’m in my hotel room.

Put on a few shows, hope they appreciate ‘em.

It always means one thing though, that whoever I’ll be meeting next will be getting a bullet in their head. Almost like a superpower, makes me feel powerful and alive. 

Another crack of thunder, I smile as the omnic goes down.

Another mark taken care of.

 

* * *

A man shoves into my shoulder one day as I’m walking down the street, I can feel his hand slide something into my palm. He keeps his head down and continues walking. A thrill runs down my spine and I smile, brilliant, some fun. 

Even more so, today was just a eyes day, this is going off script. 

‘Cadogan Pier, 2100, unarmed.’

I look back, he’s already gone. My grin grows wider, danger, living for the thrill. No guns? Where’s the fun in that?

Mocking me he is, knows who I am, thinks he’s hot stuff. I’ll show him, sniper or not at my back, I’ve been in plenty of fistfight myself.

Just my wits, a challenge. Bollocks, this is gonna be grand.

 

* * *

I step out onto the pier, the only sound around me is the gentle lapping of the water and the sparse traffic along the Albert Bridge. It’s a quiet night that leaves me restless. 

Five minutes early, I hate waiting.

Looking over the river, it comes to me how foolish this is, how I might be putting my mission in jeopardy over a man and a slip of paper. Might be a trap, might be a overhyped high school reunion. It’s the not knowing that keeps my heart thumping.

Cause without the thrill, life becomes grey and dull. 

‘Adrenaline junky’ my mum would call me after almost crashing while doing a wicked trick.

‘Greater appreciation for life’ is what I call it. 

When was the last time I actually sat down and ate a meal without thinking about my next task. How long have I gone since relaxing, taking a morning jog, a nice cup of tea in the window sill. It makes my heart unbearably heavy. 

Lonely

Isolated

I need something to distract me.

Five grueling minutes

I chuck rocks into the water to pass the time, see if I can hit the other bank shrouded in the darkness. The ripples get lost in the churning of the river. Try not to think about it.

There are footsteps behind me, heavy against the concrete. A figure much taller than me, much broader in a green coat. 

“So, you got something for me, love?”

He steps closer, my apprehension rising. Maybe I should’ve brought a gun, left a note, something. Foolish, am I trying to get myself killed?

But I still have my harness. 

It’ll save me. ‘Heroes never die’ after all. 

“Nothing much, just an old face, Tracer.”

My lungs seize up, that voice, it can’t be. 

He steps into the light and my knees threaten to give out. 

Murcat

I don’t know what to say. Half of me wants to run into his arms and cry tears of joy that he’s alive, half of me wants to run him through and toss him into the river for being so fucking over dramatic. 

“By the Queen’s knickers, you’re alive mate.” 

I whisper quietly, softly, as if too loud would spook him off into the woods. With tentative steps, I walk over to get a better look. It’s the same scruffy face, a bit more beard now, still an undercut, still  _ Murcat. _

I’m scared of what this is all about, it should be a happy reunion, yeah? Just been out of the loop with the big wigs. That’s why Reyes wanted me to go to London watchpoint, he was just being a Blackwatch dick wanker about it all. Found ‘im in Egypt they did, a bit scraped up, but nothing worse for wear. He visited Lucio, they kissed, had wicked sex. They’re going to take the summer off to visit each other’s folks and start a family. 

It’s all good, all okay, nothing, nothing

I’m crying already cause I know none of it is true. 

“Tracer-”

“Let’s get a pint, yeah? Been too long, bet I can drink you under the table this time. There’s this pub on Upper Glebe.”

I don’t want him to talk, just let it be okay for just a moment. Please. 

“I would love to, but I need say something first.” 

“What, you and Lucio gettin’ married. Tosh, knew it was only a matter of time-”

“Lena! This is serious, stop...stop running away from this.” 

I stagger back at his words. Reality sinking it no matter how much I try to fight it. No, it’s not a happy reunion, it hurts, it all hurts. 

“Thought I would be pissing my pants the next time I saw you. That it’d be all smiles and laughs and…” I shake my head and turn away, “If you ain’t got something good to say, maybe you should’ve stayed missing, mate.”

My hands are trembling, he’s right. I want nothing more than to just run away from all of this.

“What happened to you, what happened to the headstrong girl of sunshines and bad puns I used to know and love? Please, let’s just talk.” 

I don’t trust him anymore, it’s been too long, too much has happened. We never were close, rarely together alone with either Zandra or Lucio with us. Even then, he doesn’t know a lot about me and neither do I about him.

But I still consider him a friend.

Why all the secrecy, does Morrison know he’s alive, does Lucio? 

The ground is as cold as the air, my tears burn against my face. 

Murcat plops down onto the concrete beside me, joining in my unfocused gaze into the skyline. 

I’m tired, so tired. 

“You know, I didn’t think this would be how we would meet again either. Funny how the world is.” 

His words barely register. I’ll stay just to be polite, because he was once my friend. For Lucio, for Zandra; for what we had in Cairo.

“The riot, it wasn’t Talon, it was a cult called ‘Beloved of Ma’at’. I heard you had a run in with them and rescued Amari’s daughter.”

It shocks me that he knows this, it was never disclosed on the news, I doubt he had any friends in the Egyptian military and for certain he didn’t hear it from Overwatch. 

“I was captured by them in the city hall. Followed a shadow into a hall and the floor opened up. Turns out they had a safe room under the building they failed to tell us about so the rest of the squad didn’t know any better. Took me, I thought they were going to use me for leverage against Overwatch, I thought I was going to die. 

But they didn’t. The woman kept going on and on about some ‘Angel of Mercy’ they had to stop, wouldn’t say what or who it was. The whole lot of them were convinced that Overwatch was hiding this angel and they tried to get the answers out of me. I...Don’t remember a whole lot, kept using truth serums and other drugs but I literally had nothing to tell them. We’re just grunts after all.”

My stomach drops thinking back to the state I had found Fareeha in. They must’ve thought the method they used on Murcat wasn’t working so they changed it up with...Bile in my throat, I see her beaten, broken, barely alive. 

I hope she is well.

“That night, I was being kept in a wine cellar, the same one you stormed. But before you came, someone else came through. She was like ghost, flashes of light and darting around the place. Every single one of the insurgents dead, just like that, in a blink of an eye, not even bodies left. She cut out of my chair, tossed me my rifle the bastards had stashed somewhere, told me to get into the transport outside. I thought she was an Overwatch agent so I just listened, not to mention I was still pumped full of drugs at this time.

When I got to the transport, I freaked. It was obviously not Overwatch. Nearly shot the two guards standing outside of the small heliplane. Black heliplane with red lights, Talon.”

My jaw slackens. Talon.  _ Talon? _

They were the ones to saved Murcat?! If I were just a little faster, if I hadn’t passed out on the ground, I could’ve gotten there before this mystery ghost. This could’ve been different, all of this. 

“I couldn’t believe it either. I had a bit of a standoff with them, screaming at them to drop their weapons and surrender peacefully. Surprised they didn’t shoot me dead on the spot out of annoyance. Then someone slapped the back of my head and nearly knocked me out cold. She dragged me into the transport even though she was a good head shorter than me. Come to think of it, she was about your height, Tracer.”

If this person was my size, then that explains the footprints I found. Which means she had found Fareeha. But why didn’t she save her? Not enough time, was it because I showed up? 

Was she the shadow, the one who pushed the cart towards us? Why didn’t she help?

My head becomes a swirling pit of ‘what if’s and even more questions surrounding that night. 

“She shoved me in, told me to hold my tongue and let Widowmaker explain everything back at the base. And then she was gone, with a blinding flash of light. Everyone else just acted like it was fucking normal.”

“And then they brainwashed you.” 

I stand to my feet, backing away from my former friend. It clicks. Just like what happened to Amelie, but now I’m Gerard. I walked right into his trap. That’s why he chose this location at this hour, telling me to come unarmed. 

He knew I would be alone, this traitor, just like all the others.

Is this what Gerard felt right before his wife killed him. How my heart aches for believing in Murcat’s story.  

Murcat jumps to his feet with hands held in front of him. 

A liar, a dirty fucking  _ liar. _

“Tracer, that’s not what happened. They showed me how corrupt Overwatch is. You have no idea-”

“Shut up, just shut it, you hear?!” I scream, the fight or flight response kicking in full gear. I knew it, was too good to be true. Another, another, another. I want the pulling to start, for this to just be a dream, for him to have died a hero. 

“I trusted you! I can’t believe that you’re with them, with  _ Talon. _ I...I-I’m leaving, I better not see you ever again, Murcat or you’ll get a face full of munition, don’t you dare doubt me.” 

Right before I turn to leave, he does the all too familiar movement that just crush my heart further into dust. In the lamp light, a pistol leveled with me face, tears glistening from both of our eyes. 

“Bloody hell, really,  _ really?!” _

Frustration and unbridled fury and  _ I just want to fucking hit something. _ All of it, hate that I let myself become this, to think I could believe in him. Became attached and I’m paying the price for it. My brashness, my thirst for the thrill. Mad at the situation and so fucking enraged at the people.

Their fault, all of it, they chose to become this. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this.”

He doesn’t deserve to be crying when he’s the one tearing it all apart. 

“Well then bloody fuck, why did you bring a gun then, Murcat. Is this your idea of a ‘talk’. Don’t you fucking lie to me when this was your plan all along, try to get me to join you like all the others who have pulled a gun on me. I’m  _ tired _ ; tired of fighting, of all the shite going down, fuck fuck fuck I just want it all to stop.” 

I’ve grown to accustomed to my nightmares ending like that. Deep down I still believe this isn’t real, that I’ll just wake up with sweat on my brow and a pill bottle that has been empty for two weeks. 

But it’s not; it’s all real and I am still here.

“It all make sense once you learn-”

I don’t want to hear it. 

With a blink, I rush forward, striking his elbow and wrestling the gun from his slackened grip. He’s stronger but I’m faster, sharper and oh so furious. We stand, legs locked together, arms straining and his gun pointed under his chin.

I’m panting, mouth grinning. Got the upperhand now, he’s got to listen to me, not the other way around. 

I can see the fear and surprise in his eyes, how he’s pleading for his life.

“Think you could just pop out of the blue did you. ‘Oh cheers, I’m Murcat and I like to fucking betray everyone who loves me’. Well mate, this is for everyone you’ve turned your back on. Especially my lad Lucio.”

There is a moment of glee when I see it flash in his eyes. He has just made peace with his death.

A traitor

A tragedy

My hair stands on end, there it is again.

They’ve got my back.

A crack of thunder.

The searing pain surges up my arm, the pistol goes flying into the water. He shoves me away as I clutch my right hand, blood pouring out onto the ground. 

My guardian in the sky. 

Another traitor. 

My ears are ringing, the pressure crushing down on me and I can’t stop it. Everyone who I thought I could trust, numb, lost, swirling down. 

I grit my teeth, I am not broken, I will keep fighting. 

Again, I blink forward and drive my bloody fist into his face. The sound is wet and disgusting with an eruption of agony in my hand. It doesn’t matter, it never fucking matters. Never about me, is it?

I keep throwing punches, some land, some he dodges. But it’s mindless, I don’t have to think, just react. The sting of bitter betrayal. 

My shoulder collides into his stomach, I hear the wind being knocked right out of him. Good, it’ll make him less likely to survive what I’m about to try. With a bit of effort, I lift him off the ground, my back straining to bear her weight. 

I take a deep breath

And I blink

A pull, the world blurs, light

Cold, icy water.

I dig my fingers into him, holding on tight as he struggles.

Again

A pull, the world blurs, light

The water churning around us. Dark, murky, his final mistake.

Again

A pull, the world blurs, light

We collide with the river bed and I finally him go.

I can’t see anything, just the roiling waters. I can’t see his face, but I sense it. Eyes wide with shock, mouth agape, drowning.

Guilty satisfaction. 

He got what he deserved. 

A pulling, backwards, upwards, rewind, recall. 

I swim up, breaking the surface and gulping down a lungful of air. I shed my jacket heavy with water and swim back to the pier, heave myself up and lay myself down. 

The deed is done, I won. I fucking won. Won’t let anyone cross me ever again.

Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton

But it’s not pride that comes to me. Just emptiness, the weight of what I had just done.

My right hand is still throbbing, two fingers missing right above the second knuckle. A wave of nausea; I’ve seen this before; my visions and nightmares.

It’s becoming real, all of it. 

A flash of light like that of a camera.

And so I lay there feeling the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

The adrenaline gone and despair clawing at my neck.

I feel so small looking up at the starry sky. 

_ They make me feel small, like I don’t matter in the big scheme of things, shining grains of sand suspended in a sea of black. _

“Do it. Please. Just end it.” I whimper

_ Take pity on me, cruel world. _

For one of my good friends just tried to kill me. A Talon operative, a traitor, the love of Lucio’s life. 

And I just killed him.

But there is no clap of thunder in the cloudless sky. No sirens, no pull, nothing but the suffocating silence and the overwhelming sense of being alone. 

 

* * *

 

I stagger into the London watchpoint; dripping wet, freezing cold, my hand wrapped in my blood soaked shirt. 

They take me in like a stray dog. A warm bed in the medbay with people bustling about, telling me that everything’s going to be okay. 

I try to smile but it feels so empty.

 

* * *

I dream of piercing yellow eyes and an aggravating French accent that I love so much. 

And I don’t know why.

 

* * *

Mateo is one of the squad commanders at the point that takes me in. I ask her about Murcat, a quick search in the database still shows he’s missing. She asks if there was a reason for the question.

“I’m just worried for a friend is all.” 

He stays missing.

 

* * *

Mercy nearly comes down from the Swiss base when word makes it back to her. She goes on and on about changing my sheet so I wouldn’t be put on anymore solo missions. We talk, she talks, I‘m too tired to say anything more than one line answers. 

I notice myself telling everyone less and less.

There is worry in her eyes, a concerned friend.

I can’t bring myself to care. 

Another round of meds, a doctors note for two weeks recovery time on base. I just take it.

“Everything’s going to get better, Lena.”

The words ring hollow.

 

* * *

But things do get better. 

The doctors can’t grow my fingers back, but I’m already getting fitted for neat little prosthetics to make it easier to hold my gun. A week of my ‘leave’ passes, I mill around the base, chat with the patrols, catch back up on the gossip of Overwatch.

And finally call Lucio

“Trace, man, you look like shit.”

I don’t doubt him, I see the bags under my eyes every morning. 

But they’re getting better.

“It’s what happens when I’m back in my ‘ol stomping grounds, mate.” 

“Dude, these skates your girlfriend made are freaking sick. She even made ‘em so I can skate on walls, like, how cool is that.”

Another wave of guilt as I’m reminded of everything I had just done. 

But we take it easy, small jokes, testing the waters. We’ve cut off from each other for so long and so much has changed. We talk about his recovery, how he’s back in the fight better and faster than ever. How we’ll be prosthetic buddies.

And it’s nice to just talk.

We make plans to take the summer off together. I’ll head to Brazil with him to meet his family, he’ll come and visit my pops with me in London. Together we poke fun at Morrison’s love for golf, how base food it going to taste like sawdust, the little things that make me happy. 

We pretend that everything’s going to be alright and for a moment, I can believe it. 

 

* * *

 

The entire base is a buzz this morning, the air in the mess is different. Though I’m still new, there’s a face or two I recognize from earlier times; their not Lucio, but the make decent conversation during meals. 

They save there’s a convoy coming through the city this morning with plans to stay on the area for the month. Monks from some monastery in the Himalayas. Wouldn’t be such a fuss if they were normal humans, but these monks are omnics. 

It catches my attention for a moment, but only for a moment. I’m not too big on that spiritual nonsense; we got a job, we got to do it, try to have fun while saving the day, simple things.

Only people who have lost their way need religion to fill in the gaps.

 

* * *

Leaning over the metal railing, I watch the river flowing below me glitter in the late afternoon sun. Went off base to get some fresh air, get some gloves to cover my metal fingers. I get dreams about them, mostly of his face and then I pull the trigger and I wake up.

And the thunderous boom that rattled my chest

There are still reports of a serial sniper picking off the good civilians of Great Britain. 

I wring my hands together, feeling the difference between my actual fingers and those replaced by aluminum alloy. They tingle a bit, still situating themselves into my nervous system or some shite the doctors told me. 

Feels like they’ve been permanently dunked in icy water. 

My gaze wanders back out into the blue that cuts through the city. It’s the exact spot where I blinked Murcat down to the bottom of the river. The guilt eats away at me, perhaps it was uncalled for, perhaps I should’ve listen to what he had to say. 

If I was just a bit faster that night, none of this would’ve happened.

If their squad wasn’t called to deal with that riot, none of this would’ve happened.

If I had just stopped fighting in the fishbowl and just let myself drift away…

I’m tired of crying, my throat sore from late nights in my bunk, quietly sobbing into my pillow as three others peacefully slumbered away. Am I alone in this struggle, are there others who know as much as I do. 

I sure hope not.

“Greetings.”

My body goes rigid at the robotic voice. I whip around to see an omnic with three dots in a line on it’s forehead. For some reason, I feel as though it is gently smiling. 

“Uh, hi there?” Caught off guard, most omnic, piss; most people tend to keep to themselves and not start random conversations with people brooding in a public area. 

“You are troubled.” 

I furrow my brows, already not liking how forward this thing is with prying into my personal life. 

“Yeah, well, don’t wanna talk about it, mate.” I snap out, ready to turn and leave for something more secluded, maybe with more alcohol. 

“Facing your anger is the first step to peace.” 

“I’m plenty peaceful the way I am.” I shout back.

Just my luck to run into one of those monks at a time like this. As I’m walking aimlessly down the streets, I notice more like him scattered about, talking to random strangers. A few tell the omnics to sod off, but most are smiling and crying. 

Guess they have their own way of helping people. 

“Greetings.”

Not again

“Not now, mate.” 

I don’t even give it a glance, keeping my head down and ducking into an alleyway. 

“Let go of the guilt you hold in your heart, Lena.”

I halt mid stride, dread taking hold. 

“How do you know my name?” 

They all look similar to each other, especially in their identical robes. But this one has an air to it, a certain pose and hint of smugness? There is a diamond of nine dots on his head. 

“Information is shared among machines, your night at the pier, it troubles you deeply.” 

I stalk right up to it’s face, eyes darting about to see if anyone else had heard the statement. We’re alone in the narrow alley, so why do I feel so cornered by this single robot.

“Vids?”

“The world has no use for things that will only bring more conflict and pain.” 

I am...thankful but unnerved. Usually, if this were some bloke, he’d ask for money in return or a favor, but what do omnics want; omnic monks at that. 

“Cheers then...I guess.” I watch him look at me, through me? I don’t know, haven’t been around a lot of them, don’t quite know how they work.

“Walk with me and tell me your troubles.” 

I’m reluctant to follow, don’t think he’ll pull a gun on me, but maybe I’m just scared to just stop and think about my life. Every time that I do, it sends me into a whirlwind of self-doubt and confusing irritation. I sigh, maybe it’s about time…

It’s awkward at first considering that I have been away from actual people for a while and have never held a conversation with an onmic in my life. But after a while, I begin to find it’s companionship pleasantly relaxing. 

It’s name is Tekhartha Mondatta, the founder of the Shamball that are the monks I heard about in the morning. From the conflict of the omnic crisis, it found peace in meditation and self enlightenment and after a bit of coaxing, it has me feeling as relaxed as ever.

We walk down to the pier where it all started. There are people and omnics milling about, boarding the ferries and going on with their day. My chest feels incredibly light after literally divulging all my secrets to this machine. We find an empty bench to sit on before Mondatta gestures to the crowd.

“Each and every one of these beings has a soul; a story just as complex and moving as yours. Hatred and anger is born when we allow ourselves to lose sight of that fact and we see our peers as lesser beings than ourselves.”

My breathing is gentle as I find myself hanging onto to every word. The concept is hard to wrap my head around, I’ve spent my whole life thinking of it as an ‘us versus them’ situation, makes it simple, makes it easy. This will just make it messier won’t it?

“Why did you you decide to physically engage with Murcat?” 

The question is without judgement, almost rhetorical in tone. It clouds my mind trying to think of my reasoning and not just an excuse to defend myself with. 

“I was angry, course I was. He betrayed us, a coward and a bloody traitor.”

“Does this anger come from his betrayal of Overwatch, or his betrayal of you?”

It aches to dig so deep, to sift through all the pain and emotions and to line them all up. Neat little piles. Cute little piles. As he said to do to get to the root of my emotions.

“Guess his betrayal of me. I wanted something good to happen for a change. World’s going to shite, been fighting for what feels like my whole life. To think I’ve only been in Overwatch for four years, it’s not what I thought it would be.” 

“Things are rarely what they seem to be at first glance. Take the time to observe and learn and remember that there is never a ‘wrong’ or ‘right’ choice; it is all subject to everyone’s own perspective.”

“Yeah, but how do I get over this...this unhealthy anger towards him, towards people who have hurt those I love. I can’t bring myself to let go.”

Admitting it is hard to do, all this time hanging onto the bitterness. I think of Lucio, of Fareeha, of Angela, and everyone who I couldn’t help. 

“The fault is not yours to bear alone, we all hold responsibility for shaping the world into what it is. Lena, it is healthy to feel anger, the key is to balance it with tranquility; all emotions are essential to a harmonious life. Focus, center yourself.”

I lean back against the bench and take a deep breath. The air is damp and a bit unpleasant, the sun is warm against my skin. A breeze flows from the west, carrying with it the smells of the factories up the river. 

The world is alive, and I’ve never felt so alive with it.

Humble

“When there is a time that you find yourself so engulfed in fury; redirect it. Use that energy to find a solution for the situation and not a demise for the people involved. Through this, peace will blossom from your anger.” 

_ Redirect it _

_ Mad at the situation, not at the people _

An echo, another life. Terrifying. 

 

* * *

Wake up, shower, toothbrush

They are staying in a Buddhist temple for their visit. Staying isn’t the correct term; omnics don’t sleep or eat so really, they just go back there to recharge and lead prayers. I visit when I can.

Get dressed, cup of tea, go-bar

The doctor at the watchpoint notes my improvements in my mental condition, a comment that does slightly irk me, but we laugh it off together.

Pills, mirror, smile Lena

It’s passes

Cliche, yes, the whole weight off my shoulders, breath of fresh air, a changed person.

But I feel at peace

And it feels so right

Because it’s  _ me _

 

* * *

It’s easy for me to get permission to attend one of Mondatta’s speeches, the big wigs still don’t quite know what to do with me now that Mercy has me off of solo missions. According to Mateo, they haven’t had a squad mission at the London watchpoint in a while, it looks like things are finally starting to die down. 

Which has me on edge, cause the world never stop turning

I’m back in my usual Overwatch uniform as I weave through the crowd far enough to catch a glimpse of the omnic that has inspired me so much in the last month. 

I hear a child behind me call out in excitement, warms my soul, but I don’t want draw focus off of Mondatta.  

“-in the iris.”

The crowd erupts with a cheer, I join along, smiling and waving. I think they see me, looking in my direction and giving a small nod. Makes my heart flutter, there’s hope that the others inspired here will bring on a time of peace.

Suddenly, the bodyguards at the side of the stage shift, eyes looking to the rooftops. They’re talking into their communicators as if searching for something. I tap into their channel and make my way out of the crowd. If Mondatta’s in danger, I am definitely not going to just stand idly by.  

‘-touched down 1 klick South of Halo, Scepter team moving in to investigate. Crown team, keep your eyes sharp, over’

‘Roger that, Crown team, be on the alert for possible hostiles, over.’

A transport? But whose and why?

I’m at the edge of the mass of people when the hairs on my neck stand on end. Horror seizes my throat and I desperately search for them. 

No, not here, not now. 

Adrenaline pumps through me heavy and blaring. Maybe I’ll finally be able to confront this sniper of mine and get some answers. Confront them, alert the security that the threat has been neutralized, keep the ‘ol monk safe. 

There!

A take a running start, launching myself off of a car and blinking into the air. They’re already lined up for the shot, I have to stop them quick. My pistols unload their charges into a wild hail of munition, dreadfully inaccurate at this range, but it’s enough to stop them from pulling the trigger. 

I can’t help but watch with a sliver of awe at the grace they wield, vaulting off the side of the building and returning fire. I come to to my senses, it’s a firefight, first one I’ve had in awhile, I can’t risk any mistakes.

I land on the ledge across from the window she just smashed through, Finally getting a good look at her in the light of the stairwell.

Oh shite, she’s hot

“Trying to crash another party, love?”

It’s meant to be biting and refer back to my scuffle with Murcat, but one look at her and it comes out more playful and cheeky. 

Keep it in your pants, Lena.

I blink forward, trying to keep sight on her as she shoots her zipline up. I’m about to lean over the stair railing to see where she dropped to when a sharp, metal foot collides with my face and sends me flying. It stings, but I’m having far too much fun to care. 

In an instant, she soaring upwards and I sprint-blink up the stairs just to keep up. By the time I reach the top, the door to the roof it wide open and the accelerator on my chest is warm through my jacket. 

Too many blinks, I need to be more careful. 

I rush out, my gut twists at the sight of a rifle barrel pointed straight at me.

“Whoa!”

Diving to the left, I press my back tight against a concrete wall. My arms come up and the horrendous forearm armor Winston makes me wear actually help with shielding my face from the shower of debris as bullets rain down onto the wall. 

I fear I won’t be able to keep her busy until backup arrives.

“Mondatta’s in danger! Shooter on the roof, I repeat shooter on the roof!” I shout into my comm, not caring that I’m breaching protocol or disclosing that Overwatch can tap into most lines. 

‘This is a secure channel, no one’s auth-’

This is bullshite! He needs to get Mondatta to safety before things get more cocked-up, are they all bloody tossers?!

“Mondatta’s in danger, get him outta here!” 

‘Identify yourself immediately.’

Blood hell, I don’t have time for this. I peek out of my cover and fire back at the sniper, hoping that the sound of my gunfire will light a fire under his arse. 

‘All rooftops teams check and clear, Halo is leaving. I repeat, Halo is leaving.’

About time.

‘Chariot this is team one, Halo is coming in hot, over.’

The volley of bullets stop. Another beat and I push myself out with pistol poised, trying to get the upper hand while she’s reloading. 

No sound, nothing, where did she go?

Gunfire echoes into the night sky, my eyes darting to the other rooftops. There she is, gliding through the air like a real bird and right onto the chest of a poor sod. Can’t keep my eyes off of her as I dash and blink over the gaps.

I leap, blink, the alley below me blurs away.

_ I am back in Switzerland soaring across the gap of two roofs. Not a sea of amazed faces, just empty air and Amari looking up. _

_ Not Ana, Fareeha, no, both? _

I shake my head, center, find peace.

It makes it easier to ignore how the shadows pulse and sway. 

A pull, the world blurs, light, wind, solid ground

A sigh of relief. 

Thunder screams across the sky, red streaks passing centimeters from my face. My, if she’s missing I must really be on her nerves. More shots, I duck and weave with a smirk on my face, too fast for you love!

One, two, launch!

The wind whips through my hair as I vault into the air, unloading another charge from my pistols at her. I know they’re not going to hit her, probably won’t even hurt all that much if they do from this distance. 

Keep her on the run, keep her occupied until Mondatta’s safe. 

I finally close some of the space between us, heat rises to my cheeks at the sight of what she’s wearing. Shite...Fuck!

I almost trip leaping between two rooftops, hot on her tail. 

Keep it together. 

My arse hits the tiles hard, sliding down to steady myself. All of a sudden, my lungs stutter and blister with every breath. The air smells noxious and my vision becomes murky with brown smoke. Within the second, all my muscles begin to seize up, the pistols clattering to the ground as I try to slow my momentum.

_ Tearing, throbbing, tumbling down _

My chest alight with pure agony. Cold concrete slams against the right side of my body and knocks the air straight out of my lungs. But the burning doesn’t stop and it leaves me choking and gasping for relief. 

A foot plants itself firmly onto my arm, pinning me tightly to the ground, the sound her her rifle cocking. 

If this were any other situation…

“Such a sweet, foolish girl.”

Her voice, I look up and time slows.

_ Piercing yellow eyes, a playful smirk. _

_ and an aggravating French accent that I love so much _

Piss, can my life get  _ any _ weirder. 

Dreamed of her, heard her and for some bloody reason, I feel some twisted kind of love for her. But I don’t even know anything about this woman, not even her name. 

Wait

I heard those shots back in Egypt, my informants dropping dead at my feet

She’s the French woman that I drove around that night.

My guardian in the sky who I believed for so long to have my back.

The traitor that shot two fingers off my hand.

I don’t have another moment to contemplate anymore, her finger is gentle easing onto the trigger of her rifle. There’s a look of surprise that graces her face as my accelerator whirs and envelopes me in light.

Weightless, a pulling, backwards, upwards, rewind, recall

I’m back in mid jump, guns in my hands, quickly approaching the poison cloud that sent careening to the floor in the first place. 

Up and up! I blink, streaming to the left and aim down my iron sights. I remember how much fun I had teasing this woman in my cabbie, think of it as a game, don’t think of who she is or what this all means. It’ll make it easier. 

The rest can be sorted out later.

“What’s that?” I quipe before firing to her right and clipping the pipes. 

A cloud of steam swallows her whole as I land back down, palm slamming down. I reach back and feel for the pulse bomb strapped there, in the cover of the steam, maybe I’ll be able to catch her off guard.

A small part of me hopes that she at least survives. 

The bomb goes soaring into a wide curve, it’s beeping growing softer and softer as it flies away from me. I hold my breath, bracing myself for the explosion. 

But with a deafening crack, it comes to early with a scorching fireball and a shockwave that knocks me off the edge of the roof. My hands are empty, accelerator now almost burning me through the leather of the my jacket. I’m running low on options. 

And there she is, hanging in midair just like I am.

My heart gets caught in my throat. Her scope is blood red as she brings it up to her eye; so graceful, so deadly, so…

I see her raise an eyebrow. Amused? Annoyed?

A smirk.

A crack of thunder.

Time hanging in the air

_ Recall _

_ Don’t _

_ He will die _

_ You will die! _

_ We can’t- _

_ -change anything _

Bloody fucking hell, my head erupts with a frenzy of voices all screaming at me to do different things. I can see the bullet tearing through the air, drawing closer and closer. Nameless guilt hammers into my gut, for what, why?

_ I’m sorry Mondatta _

I hold my breath and curl myself in, hoping that I’m in time.

Weightless, a pulling, backwards, upwards, rewind, recall

I can feel the shot rip through the few particles of me left in that spot, not enough to kill, but enough to beat the air right out me.

Reliefs floods my veins, my feet touching down on solid ground. Thought I was gone, no, just in time. My hands rush to pat my accelerator, not damage, still here, all of me here.

But then why is she so smug?

“Looks like the party's over.”

I don’t understand, she didn’t kill me, she didn’t win. I might not have my pistols on me but we’re stil-

No

I sprint to the edge of the roof and peer over to the stage.

Please

There’s a robed body lying right inside of the car, motionless. The crowd is pressing forward trying to get a look. My stomach drops, I failed him,  _ I failed Mondatta _

“No no no no!”

Despite his teachings and everything we’ve accomplished over the last month, it all comes surging back. The anger, the heat, bitter betrayal and self-disgust that I once trusted this very woman.

I charge forward, blinking faster and further than I ever have. I slam into her front first, hands grappling for purchase on her skintight suit. There’s the feeling of her joining me for the last part of them blink, I fully expect her to be at the dazed when we collide back down onto solid ground.

A tumble and a tussle and I’m straddling her, bearing my weight down her over the ledge. 

But she’s not fazed at all, not even in the least bit, staring back at me with those blasted yellow eyes. What kind of explanation does she have for murdering such a peaceful being. Will I even accept any sort of explanation from her mouth?

It would so much easier to beat her face in.

But that won’t bring him back.

“Why?!” The anger comes bursting out in a single syllable. 

My heart is breaking all over again, I can’t take much more of this. Please, just tell me why I once thought you were my ally. Unseen partners, almost friends, yeah? You once had my back, didn’t you?

It hurts, the anger fills in the gaps

I can’t explain why I feel so double-crossed. Why do I feel so  _ bloody much  _ for this nameless woman, why my eyes are ready to cry.

“Why would you do this?” I saying oh so quietly.

There is a fondness in her eyes, a sort of grating pity. She chuckles, slow and taunting and I don’t fucking understand. Like I’m missing something, is she remembering something, do she feel this unknown familiarity that I feel for her?

A bright light illuminates the night, winds picking up and chilling my sweat soaked skin. I can hear the roaring engines of a heliplane. Black with red lights.

Talon

She’s a talon operative.

Just like fucking Murcat!

Frustration mounts, I’ve just been played..

A harsh tug at the collar of my jacket tears my eyes away from the sight and back to her. So close, I smell a hint of roses on her skin, the shockingly cold breath of her words. 

“ _ Adieu cherie.” _

I blink, intense eyes fading, shifting to

_ yellow eyes wet tears but full of hope, mirth, pain. _

We’re plummeting down down.

I don’t know why I don’t blink, maybe I’m too shocked, frozen, breathless; held prisoner in a cage of citrine. Her freezing hand is clasped around my throat, why isn’t she warm like me?

What did they do to you, love?

“ _ Ahh!”  _

My back smashes into the side of the building with full force. There’s a sickening crack and I feel the pulling trickle back.

No

not again

Falling

Pair sears through my legs as I tear through power lines, the wires snapping under my weight and sending electricity coursing into me. The pulling gets stronger, sparks flying from the anchor. I struggle to keep control of lungs that sputter and twitch. 

Drowning, they’re filling up with fluids, choking, bitter.

The fear is crippling, I have

To

Hold one 

I

am 

Here

Solid ground, the pulling getting stronger

hurts to fight it

Lucio

I’m sorry

Fight

Zandra

Don’t fade.

Winston

Light from my chest begins to surround me.

No

_ Please _

Anyone

Just my luck

In all directions,

Can’t

The light is blinding

All I can see

White

And so I’m gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So I don’t quite know how I feel about this chapter. I kept mulling around with it, did a couple drafts, kinda happy with the final deal. I tried to capture a sorta of growth with Lena where she lost herself and then found it again with Mondatta. Truthfully, i found it extremely interesting that she saw him as an inspiration because it seems a bit out of her character. But I have to admit that I’m struggling a bit with the pacing of this story cause (Spoiler) it’s about to pick up and things are going to start being answered and i’m trying not to draw it out too far but also trying to give enough detail. oh boy am I excited. I know I’ve been saying that for a few chapters, but trust me, it’s coming :D.
> 
> But a bit about my life right now, I’m about to move in three days from to Utah from California (yaaaaay) for a technical theater course at Utah State University. What that means is a bit of a slowdown in chapters for this massive move and start of school, so This will be the last one until I settle in but trust me, it’ll be fun.
> 
> ALSO, fuck, I just discovered electro swing and it’s the only thing I listened to while writing the Widow/Tracer interaction. If anyone’s curious, I usually listen to piano music while writing, even the smutty bits.


	15. Renew

A briefing room, a table of three squad commanders, a projection of Morrison. 

Senses, feels, sees but not with the eyes.

The urge to vomit an unwanted companion, there is a film of bitterness coating her tongue. Has she already retched the contents of her stomach free, perhaps she still is-

Thunder tears through her chest, another pulse of agonizing electricity. She falls to the floor feeling her fingers slip into the holes of a metal grate that is not there.

Disconnected

Disorientated

Disassociated

Just like before, but not exactly, she is remembering things, the sights familiar. It feels a bit more real as time surges through her each cells. 

Mondatta, the omnic monk, the one who become her anchor when she felt so lost. An inspiration, her savior and her fault. Guilt sink in like talons into lungs that do not realize it needs to breath. A spider, a snake, a traitor she should have seen coming.

A failure.

She let Mondatta die.

_ Not your fault, we tried so many times.  _

_ It’s alright, we’ll fix this. _

“-two months and nothing. If Tracer has defected to Talon, they will find a way to replicate her condition and we will have an even larger concern on our hands.”

Lena’s trembling fingers grip tight onto the metal. She cannot feel the pain of the edges dig into her flesh; pain she so desperately wants. The darkness pulses, a tear that falls into a river where she drowned her friend. She had done so much, held it together through so much hurt and they don’t even care about  _ her. _ Just her ‘condition’, just  _ Tracer _ ...never  _ Lena Oxton. _

Two months, is that where they are? Is this a vision in the future, will she appear right in front of them like a ghost from the past. 

Did anyone still care, Lucio, Zandra, Winston, Angela, somebody? Lost yet everywhere at once, nothing to control, not even a body to call her own.

This time, she forces the pull, like a blink, a recall,  _ something new; _ like blindly groping into the universe and trying to find the right place to land. 

Out of the smears of colours emerge an office, it feels smaller though she cannot see the walls. A man at a desk, a picture of three friends, turmoil stampedes in the air. Two inky shadows with echoing voices. 

Lena looks down at her hands, trying to find more context. Everything seems to swim away from her eyes, the more she tries to focus, other things rush in to fill the gaps. The coldness of a cup, hair through her fingers, dusty metal, heated skin-

It’s too much to take in, focus, focus on what comes, the now, the voices speaking through the fiber of her being.

“We can not give up, she is an excellent agent and a friend. We brought her back once, we will be able to bring her back again.” 

Fighting, desperate and fruitless hope. The good doctor who is  _ always trying so hard to save everyone.  _ Pity, an endless drink to think of the effort they are putting into a hopeless cause.

“Overwatch funding has taken a hard hit and the United Nations are breathing down our necks. We can’t keep the chamber running non-stop like this. We’re not even sure if Tracer is even disassociated. For all we know, she might be running alongside Talon or AWOL. Until we get the full picture, we can’t blindly waste what little assets we have left.”

“I don’t want to say this but it’s a valid concern we must consider Dr. Ziegler. All of us want to find Tracer but we don’t have the same resources at our disposal as we used to.” 

She wants to stop listening, stop the words from beating her heart into a bloody pulp. The feeling of betrayal scorches her throat and carve rivers down her face. She was worth saving right? If not for her skills, then as a friend, as a companion. She had never given up hope on Murcat when he disappeared, spending her off hours searching for tips and leads and…

Despair

The ones she loved and trusted to help. They weren’t doing everything they could were they? Just some broken tool better off replaced than repaired. Lena knew they could bring her back, she was trying so hard to  _ be _ back. 

Something to believe in.

Please

“We need to keep trying-”

“Overwatch will not risk everything to bring one soldier back when we have a hundred more!”

There is silence. It’s true, a hard decision. She can feel the conflict in each of their heads. He doesn’t want to do this, but for the greater good.

_ but he’s a good man, we’re all just trying to do what we think is right _

The woman takes a step back, fading in and out of colour, out of reality. Blue eyes wet with tears, a memory that pains her. No, she can’t save everyone, she couldn’t even save her parents, why did she think she could save Lena. 

Lena reaches out, not a hand, a presence, trying to comfort the woman she once loved. So much hurt and she’s trying  _ so hard _ to keep it from bursting at the seams. But there is nothing, like a cool breeze that ghosts over the woman’s shoulders and back. 

She is nothing

“It was a mistake to join Overwatch.”

Like dust kicked up in gust of wind, the darkness blows over. The smell of disinfectant slams into Lena’s nostrils, breathing, she’s breathing again. An exam bench, chest bare, a soft red glow in her chest. Breaching the surface of the water, gasping, sound and touch slowly coming back.

The tingling stops, lungs solid, here.

_ Here _

A shudder scampers up my spine, the feeling like walking into a room and forgetting what the bloody hell I was looking for. Right, payload mission went off without a hitch, kept those Talon buggers off of it. They’ve got nothing on us now, like little pesky flies. 

We’ll make Overwatch better, make it great again. 

Angie said she had an upgrade for my accelerator, a little faster, trust my instincts, just let it happen and no more hesitation. 

People die when they hesitate

She knows best, she believes in me and I won’t let her down. 

I think she stepped out for a bit to check something, don’t quite remember. But it's nice right now, still riding high on the praise for a job well done. We’re doing good work, making the world a better place. 

Nothing beats that. 

My hand twitches on its own, been doing that a lot lately. Told Angie ‘bout it, some disconnected who-what, said she’ll fix it right up next time we touch down at base. Takes good care of me, not like that fucking prick Morrison. 

Traitor, hate traitors.

The air chills, each breath feeling like it’s less than the last. Shallower, my head feels light, high altitude, not enough oxygen. I need to get my mask on, pressurize my suit, check the meters.

Focus, not flying, never flown since...since…

A tugging, pulling, lights and colours and sounds smells touch  _ everything  _ blends together like running paint. 

“-swear I put it here a second ago”

A voice so familiar, so angelic smoothing over frayed nerves and flaring tempers. A guardian, a beacon of light, her-my-

But Lena’s not in the room anymore, it's just a woman in a trim white uniform alone at the counter, swirls of darkness surrounding her. The door slides open; tall, dark skin, tattoo, left side...like static it fades. 

“Talon spotted 5 klicks East, reports of Reaper with them. Tracer, I want you to scout the situation out.” 

Something gentle wafts into the air, like a pocket of warmth being released. A gaze, a touch and the softening of eyes not hers. 

“If that is alright with you,  _ habibti.” _

Frustration blunders in like an enraged bull. Misplaced and out of context. A pulling, it startles her with the feeling of longing for what she has left behind. 

“Of course. I will finish this later. Be careful out there, Fareeha. And you too,  _ hase _ or I‘ll have to bring you back again.”

Before it all fades, Lena feels something digging into her palm. When had she picked something up, how could she? 

Gone, into a purgatory, smoke showing glimpses into universes that have been, that will never be, that never should have become. 

It is a chip that sits in her right hand where two fingers are missing above the second joint. 

To dust the world crumbles.

“McCree, you will sit down and write that report.” 

All Lena sees is a man with a mask seated in the sill of a ruined window. Rubble litters the streets below, outcasts, underdogs, rebels against the esteemed Overwatch.

“I can’t read or write, alright! You must be mighty pleased with yourself to find out my little secret, ain’t ya. Ain’t no one taught me anything but how to shoot a gun and kill a man.” 

He wants to cry but he can’t; hasn’t been able to for years no matter how hard he tries. Thoughts of what was, how easy it was to pretend it all mattered but when death is no longer a concern, what does that make life?

The thoughts don’t make sense in her head.

Lena goes over, feet passing through the broken furniture of the apartment. To get closer to him, to learn more about this universe she has been thrown into.

All of a sudden, her foot catches on the leg of a coffee table, sending her tumbling to the dirt covered floor. The pain is raw and real. 

“Did you forget how to fucking walk?” 

Hands are on my shoulders, helping me back to my feet. Didn’t expect Reyes to move from his perch just to give me a hand up. He seems a bit embarrassed at the action, looks like we’re all still trying to get used to working together. 

He also doesn’t do his little smoke trick to avoid me, so I guess it counts for something. I know Reyes hates talking, but after how our last skirmish went; how badly we were beat back, I know even he needs a little pick me up. 

“Blasted table came outta no where I tell you.” I smile, can’t tell what he’s thinking with that ridiculous thing on his face. “I brought your favorite.” 

I think he’s smiling but he don’t make a sound. Nonetheless, a hand snatch the rice krispies. He pulls his hood up further and sets the mask down on the windowsill. I know better than to try sneaking a peek; don't think anyone has seen his face after the incident.

He’ll show us when he’s ready.

“We’ll stop ‘em, don’t you get your knickers in a twist, mate. The good guys always come out on top yeah?” 

Reyes doesn’t reply, I don’t expect him to. We sit, the sweetness of the treats feeling foreign on my tongue. It doesn’t belong does it? 

This a dream?

How did we come to this, holed up in a destroyed apartment building, running from...from…

If I can’t remember

“The red fucks-”

“Red fox.”

“The red fox-”

Then am I really here?

Lena’s head jerks up, the voices are faint as if in the other room. It’s Reyes, but he’s seated...was seated. Where?

A hand tugs on her sleeve but she isn’t wearing any, she doesn’t even have arms, a body; swirling again and she feels oh so very small. 

“You’re the hero from Overwatch!”

A flash of light, something massive slams into her chest and yet she doesn’t stagger back. She isn’t even sure if she’s standing or sitting or just floating. Bright speckles blink into existence, more and more, galaxies, planets, life, surging forth until there is no more darkness, just blinding white. 

And eight red dots.

The air leaves grit on Lena’s teeth, more like bullying its way into her mouth rather than a breath taken. Shouting, the sound of a transport.

“-disengage Ana! That’s an or-”

There’s nothing to see except the cockpit of a plane that feels like the embodiment of Lena’s childhood. How her mother poured her heart and soul into teaching her how to fly, how it left a vacancy in her life. She couldn’t be mad about it, it was her choice to learn wasn’t it?

She brought it upon herself.

No longer a child, now a pilot.

Bittersweet

Someone is scared but confident. Heavy soul, take out one to save another, make the sacrifice, take the shot, shoulder the guilt. 

Another, pounding feet, worried and strapping herself into the seats of a transport. She’s praying, not for herself, but for a woman she still loves; please don’t let her be here, please. 

A crack of thunder, a scream, realization, self loathing, disappointment. She thought she was so much more, so much left to give, but in the moment of death, the period is dotted and her story is over without another word. 

Who will protect my family now?

There is a surge of satisfaction with a speck of regret that is quickly washed away. A lost woman sealed in her own mind. Once believed in something, does she still believe? 

Pain, pain, so much pain soars in Lena’s being, the whole world, the entirety of  _ time _ condensed in one oh so very small woman. Children ripped from parents, lovers losing touch, soldiers torn apart from war, physical and mental, screaming torture that has ever been and ever will be. 

What joy is there to have when there is so much hurt. 

The smell of cumin like the gentle caress of sanity. 

And it just feels right.

There is a child full of hopes and dreams of taking to the sky, protecting the innocent as she rides on the back of her mother. 

A girl spending a dinner with her parents in a restaurant they always wanted to go to. A first paycheck well spent. 

An omnic, gears tired, systems overheated, coming home to a dog it found on the streets. The licks don’t repair its body but it mends its soul. 

A man winning a stuffed animal for his brother. 

Two lovebirds enjoying the sweet simplicity of each other. 

A warm bath

Cold ice cream

It makes the hurting less, perhaps even worth it. A small smile if she can, sadness with the happiness, hand in hand

Balance. 

The things I’m willing to fight and die for.

A lungful of air is wrung from my throat, like the palm of a god pressing down on my back. Frigid metal is smashed up on my face, I’m breathing, I’m hurting sharp and real. 

Here, here,  _ I am here _

_ It starts strangely enough with my left middle toe. _

No, different this time, not my toe. The pulsing of my left eye and bruises eager to take shape.

_ Like fire,  _ the coldness of the table burns, fight fight, different, don’t fall back _ ; A woosh of  _ breath. Just breathe. Memories are not realities. 

_ There are voices  _ Winston, and...and...Angela, disbelief in tone, words, what are they saying. 

_ The wrappers are gone, the walls are clean, humming fills my ears. _

_ “Move swiftly!” _

_ I panic and struggle- _ stay still.

Take a breath

I’m not in the fishbowl.

Center

_ Calmness _

“Well call me a monkey’s uncle, it worked.”

They did it.

Faces finally breach the surface of ink, gentle smiles, bright eyes, blurry and I’m crying. 

“A sight for sore eyes, loves.” My voice is so quiet, but it’s mine. 

Here

“I am sorry but there is no time to spare,” says Angela, rushing about and gathering tools.

I’m so tired, my body like lead, perhaps wash it away and let me be. But it comes back, the joy of the world, for just a moment, something to fight for. It paints a grin on my face. 

Sad to think they had given up on me. Should be mad, should tell ‘em off. The world don’t need more pain, they don't need to be reminded.

move on, don’t dwell.

_ healthy to feel anger, the key is to balance it with tranquility; all emotions are essential to a harmonious life. Focus, center yourself. _

It’s always the situation, not the person. 

Winston helps me up into a seated position, his hand still pressing whatever it is into my back. With a few snips, my harness falls away; cracked, dark and silent. The thing on my back shifts and it fills me to the brim with panic.

The pulling comes back for a moment. Drowning, gasp, please don’t let me fall.

“What’s going on?” I ask nervously, sweat breaking out on my skin as Angela pushes over a cart full of  _ very  _ familiar tools.

_ Pain lances through my chest. I look down with tears blurring my vision. There’s a long cut from my collar bones to the bottom of my sternum. White bone peers out from where the flesh has been parted. _

Different, this time is different. 

“The fluctuator is heavily damaged, readings show a surge of electricity caused the entire system to malfunction, the dampeners are short circuited. Reports said there were snapped power lines in the area right?”

“I, uh, kinda fell through some I think?” I say to Winston, the memory hazy. Angela is at my front, hands pulling down the zipper of my jacket. She doesn’t look at me, eyebrows drawn and focused on her task. 

“Then my theory would have it that you took heavy impact on your back, weakening the surge protectors enough for the electricity of the power lines to kill the entire system. Most of it, the anchor is unstable at best.” He’s trying to distract me as she cuts away my shirt and bra. Only a light blush spreads across my face; I’ve had check-ups with the both of them so often it just feels kind of normal. 

She looks up to me with a sigh, though it’s not over, I can see a spot of relief in her eyes. 

“Tracer, it is a miracle that you are here. If your accelerator had been damaged any more, you would’ve died from electrocution; any less and you chanced being transported forward in time for who knows how far.”

Sometimes I think it’s not just miracles and luck looking after me. But I take it anyways, cupping her face in my hand. Is is so bad that this feels so right? 

“A miracle and the two of you never giving hope on me.” She flinches away at the end, eyes darting to Winston who doesn’t look up.

I meant it as a compliment before I remember the vision. He still doesn’t offer any input and it’s the nail on the coffin. I really hoped that the dreams were just that; dreams.  

“We need to implant another anchor onto your back, we can not risk removing your front one to repair it without the chamber to keep you stabilized.” Angela says.

Her eyes are clouded, a soft frown on her face as she hooks up an I.V. bag and a needle. I appreciate the fact she’s telling me this unlike the first time I popped back into existence. There’s a nervous flutter in my chest, it’ll always be there no matter how much I trust them.

“That’s a-okay, I’ll just dress up as a lighthouse for Halloween.” I brave a smile, earning at least a small chuckle from Winston. But she remains stoic, too much worry resting on her shoulders.

“Hate to ‘enlighten’ you, but Halloween was two months ago.” My smile falters but he doesn’t catch it. Two months...two months…. “Dr. Ziegler, if you are done, can you take point while I gather my tools?”

She nods, hurrying behind me and pressing the cylinder a lot more gently onto my bare back than Winston had. The silence is awkward once he steps out of the room. I fidget with my hands, wishing for the warmth to come back, the gentle eyes and light laughs. Her, what I remember her to be; the woman I fell in love with.

“Are you ready, Tracer?” her voice is still gentle and coaxing, I feel bitterness rising up at the question. Like I have a choice, it’s this or back into the swimming about in time stream yeah? 

Frustrated, ugly, rot of the heart, I need patience. 

I need her to...

“Please, call me Lena, Angela.” I pray, ironic that I do. For a sense of normalcy, for me to not have to face the truth that things have changed since I was gone. 

Her tongue doesn’t speak but her eyes do. Sad, beaten, defeated and full of hurt. Angela just shakes her head. Something happened for her to become this; cause and effect yeah?

Who hurt you, Angela, you of all people don’t deserve it. 

Another name to the list of people Overwatch has fucked over. 

I wring my hands together, this love-hate relationship I have with everything is tearing me apart. To want to believe that we’re good. But to see the bad, to  _ be _ the bad. I don’t know what to think anymore. 

“Alright, ready to commence anchoring operation.” We both look up at Winston shuffling back through the doorway, a bundle of tools in his arms, all sealed in their little sterile packets. 

I pale at the sight of a power drill, feeling the phantom pain of the screws being installed into my chest. It’ll be better, I have to remember that. Different, better, they’ll fix me right up. 

“Lay down on your front, I am going to be administering a dose of anesthesia that will knock you out.”

My head is swirling, the last time...I don’t want to miss anymore. I almost tell her to just give me local meds, I can take it. I don’t want to wake up, missing something. Please, I have already lost so much time.

“7 months.” it’s staggering to think about. More than half a year, gone, just like that. 

“Just a little bit longer,” as if she knows what I’m worried about. How does she do it? Bet she studied psychology, can read me like a book, prick, don’t like-

Again… I need to stop. Now’s not the time, she doesn’t deserve my anger. Frustration, not her fault. No one's at fault. 

The smile comes easier this time around.To comfort myself and them.

“Don’t worry about, love. I’ll be safe with the two of you looking out for me.” I know it, perhaps I believe it, I want to; at least for them to believe it too. “See you on the other side, big guy.”

They both nod, their lips pressed into thin lines. Everything’s gonna be just fine. Do the best to ignore the choking beats of my heart, how my tongue feels alien in my mouth. The tingling, the hollowness, floating, drifting.

A prick in my arm, Angela is saying something. Her hand gentle running through my hair. Calming, falling; flying. 

Please

The fear just grows worse the more the lights blur in and out of focus.

Don’t let me fall

Darkness follows the colours.

Please fix me. 

 

* * *

Too good to be true.

Thought she’d be home by now, get the jump on her. How she stiffens up when I wrap my arms round her waist, her scent, the rare smile that she cracks only when she finally feels at ease. 

Well, nothing but an empty flat. 

I tuck away my dufflebag and flute, making sure not to disturb anything. She’ll know, always does, the little things. It’s impressive really, sometimes, when I’m bored, I shift things around just to drive her nutters. 

Everything looks exactly the same since the day I left.

A wave of dizziness, the soft carpet of our bedroom floor. 

Lena’s eyes are dotted with bleary stars, how did she get down here? A blink, monotone murmurings, some warm pressing against her back. Sick to the stomach,  _ drowning, crushing, falling, thinking she was never going to wake back up  _

Not again. 

It passes, like it always does. A few deep breaths, find my center.

Just like Master Mondatta says. 

I hear a rustling and the sound of a key being slid into the front door. In a panic, I jump to my feet, smoothing my uniform down as I hurry out to the kitchen to greet her. 

It’s a blissful moment to catch her face in such a state of shock. 

The bags in her hands fall to the floor and she just looks at me. 

“You’re back early.” Disbelief, but happy.

I bound right up to her, guiltily kissing away the one tears she allows to fall. 

I know I’ve been away for a long time, was slated to be away for a lot longer but Pardenilla got the report she was looking for. My tour’s over now, done my time, our life together begins now. Normals lives.

It must be why we’re both crying and smiling. 

She presses me up tight against her in a crushing hug. Can barely breath with my face buried in her cleavage, but I’m not one to complain. Oh how I’ve missed her, these little moments where she just lets go. 

There’s no need to worry about your reputation at home, love. 

“You’re done”

“Bet your knickers I am.”

“And you’re staying.”

“If you’ll have me.”

She smacks me lightly on the back of my head, a scoff before a kiss I’ve been aching for for the last nine months. It doesn’t take long before it turns into a bit more than a ‘welcome home’ kiss. Her hands tug the shirt out from my pants, hastily undoing the buttons and slipping beneath my undershirt. 

Nails scrape up and up and finally reach my breasts. They wander to the center of my chest…

And just skin. Forgetting, like something is supposed to be there?

Lapse of the mind

Can’t dwell on it for too long, not with her teeth nipping at my ears. Blasted woman, she knows they’re bloody sensitive. I squirm against her hot breath, a hearty chuckle and I’m lifted into the air. Letting out a startled squeak, my hands clamp around her shoulders as she easily carries me up onto the kitchen counter. 

“I was about to bake your favorite pastries and send them to you.” She mutters softly, a dash of disappointment painting her words. 

I catch her face in my hands, lifting them up and beaming a wide smile at her. She’s so busy all the time and yet she always finds time for me. She cares, the little things. 

Bright eyes of citrine still makes my heart beat faster. Makes it worth it, she makes the pain better. I’ve been away for so long, surviving on outdated letters only when I touch back at base every two months, that’s if I’m lucky. There are ones I wrote while holed up in a shack after being shot down, others in makeshift bunkers with blood and tears staining the corners.  

Never sent those ones, they don’t matter cause I’m here now, I didn’t die,  _ I’m back. _

“We’ll make ‘em together. C’mon love, it’ll be grand!”

She doesn’t say it, maybe it's pride, maybe it’s trauma. But I know her well enough now, how her eyebrows come together by just a centimeter, the glance to her left. 

I’m sorry love, I had to, was my duty. 

I’m sorry for leaving you, for running away, it won’t happen again.

I promise.

To make up for all the time I had lost. 

I say it with kisses and little pecks at her neck.

“Non,” she says finally, pulling away from me and picking up the forgotten bags on the floor. I watch her, a surge through my body as I know for a fact she bends over  _ just like that. _

“You will either burn them like last time or make them too sugary with how sweet you are.” 

Oof, makes my chest blossom to hear her pick up my teasings. Got some of her own but I know the little tricks she shoots back at me. Don’t even care that she’s poking fun at my cooking, Brits can cook too. 

Well, cook, maybe not bake.

So gentle, so nice, it’s us. No world to save, no death to cheat. Feels like I don’t deserve this perfect of a life. 

A normal life, two lovebirds living in a flat. 

“Honey tongue.” I whisper, my heart leaps and gets caught in my ribs.

Like a lightning bolt, the air shifts, the world tilts and Lena is clutching onto the counter for dear life. There is a beeping, not the stove, no, no, hold on, not again. 

“What is the matter,  _ cherie _ ?”

She’s here, please let her stay  _ here and happy.  _

It hurts more to fight it, the pulling, always the pulling. No matter the medication or the meditation, it always,  _ always _ comes back. Lena grits her teeth, it’ll pass.

It.

Will.

Pass.

Falling and floating, pulling and pushed, like a slingshot hurtling to the ground that won’t be there to catch her. The woman in her arms disappears, just her voice, her panic stricken voice and eyes of molten gold. 

“Lena? Lena?!” 

And so she’s gone.

 

* * *

It starts with my mouth; how absurdly dry it is as if my throat were lined with sandpaper. Spreading down, trickling sensations restoring to the rest of me. Oh bloody hell am I sore. There’s a new humming now on my spine directly where my front one is. 

Each breath stretches at the still stiff scar tissue. Just like last time. I grind into the ring of foam cupping my face. Out of the corner of my vision, I can see a pair of shoes.

“How are you feeling?” 

I flinch away when fingers prod the tender skin around the new anchor. She apologizes, stroking her hand along the back of my neck. Goosebump break out all along my back; everything feels so real, so vivid.

Was the room always this cold?

The wrinkles on her knuckles as they skim over my shoulder blades. The faint grunting Winston makes every time he breathes. Smell of disinfectant, the taste of my day old spit, like the world is just a bit clearer. 

I smile, genuine, it feels good. 

“I am here, love.” 

 

* * *

It’s slow at first, like relearning how to breathe and exist. The glass of water feels too wet, her hands too warm, the sounds of my stiff footsteps deafening to my ears. Neither of them anticipated me needing this sort of rehabilitation. Winston had frowned slightly in concern, but hey, it’s like seeing the world a new; like seeing a favorite movie and having that same magical moment. 

The jokes come easier, the world brighter. We smile and laugh as I stumble about. It’s humbling to finally feel whole. 

How much have I missed out on?

Winston leaves me with Angela, saying that he’ll try opening a line to Morrison to give him the good news. 

A full three hours have passed since them waking me up, all the stress tests passed, we’re going to try blinking and all that jazz once the big guy comes back with the new harness he built. Still, she looks so worried, I can see it behind even the reassuring tenderness. It was a success, she should be happy, yeah? Does she not want to give herself this victory?

“I saw you while I was disassociated.” She winches at the words before confusion dawns on her. Is that panic in her eyes? Why, this is not what i intended. 

“After my harness cocked up and I turned into a cloud of Lena-particles. Saw you, or heard you, felt you? You and Winston talkin’ ‘bout keepin’ the fishbowl running. Even after everything, you never gave up. I appreciate it doc.”

A light pink dusts her cheeks but there is only a nod and the same tired eyes. 

“I am just doing my job.”  

Must be what she tells herself, does she not see how much sacrifice she puts in. If she’s anything like me, all that pain of failure, even more so for her when it’s someone literally dying in her hands. Can’t keep it bottled up, I know that...Can I help you, Angela? 

I try a bit harder, c’mon love, smile with me, need you to be happy too.

“Bullshite, I know you care. Things are good, everything’s gonna be-”

Like a gunshot to the heart, I flinch back when her hands slam against the metal counter top. Her eyes glisten with tears, her lip quivering down into a conflicted frown. I almost reach out, wanting to pull her into my arms. I didn’t mean to hurt you.

“Stop making this hard for me.” Angela sounds so small, like the world rests on her back and squeezing the life right out of her body. She has a heart that aches to save everyone. Does she feel the same failure gnawing away at her sanity, the guilt of watching someone die because of a fuck up? “I can’t afford to be anything more than your doctor. Please, just drop it.” 

Angry at me, angry at herself, at Overwatch?

_ Each and every one of these beings has a soul; a story just as complex and moving as yours. _

I’m so sorry, Angela. 

 

* * *

She just can’t catch a break. Winston calls us to join him in the conference room where Morrison’s face is projected onto the wall. He looks older than I remember. 

“Mercy, a transport is en route to bring you back to the Swiss base.”

My neck hairs bristle at his cold tone.

“Nein, I need to remain here while we keep running tests.”

She’s straining to keep a professional composure. Winston glances at me, I don’t quite know what he’s trying to convey. 

“The report states that her condition is stable, meaning you are no longer necessary. Winston can take over, you are needed back here.”

He can’t see her fists clench tight at her sides. I’ve never seen her this livid, always the gentle type, like a mother; sometimes a stern mother. Morrison might been a man of the mission, but he knows how to treat people. It isn’t him to be such a heartless twat. 

How much has changed?

“In concern for the well being of my patient, I am staying.”

“Do not fight me on this, Dr. Zeigler. You are getting on that transport and returning back to base. That’s an order, understood?”

Tense, breathless seconds tick by, I fully expect Angela to blow up. Tosh, I’d blow up on Mr. Arsetit Commander. I try to think of his story, what has shaped him into this. What kind of reason, why...as is the answer would make this all better. 

A hard call

Just like in the vision.

And she sighs, deflated, beaten down through gritted teeth. 

“Understood.”

I nearly cry to hear how broken she sounds. 

“Good, I will speak with you soon then.” 

The transmission is cut. 

The moment the scene goes black, she lets out a yell that pierces my heart. It’s the cry of resentment, pent up anger,  _ rage _ unfit for the woman I once knew. She’s crying, paces for few steps before Winston catches her in his large arms. Her fists pound weakly against his chest as he silently strokes her back. 

“A mistake. I am going to make sure Overwatch gets shut down. This organization has brought nothing but death and pain after serving its purpose. ” I don’t understand the meaning behind her blubbering, how is she getting Overwatch shut down? 

“Angela-”

“No, just let me have this one, Winston.” 

And so we slowly make our way to the mess hall, silently seated at a table with a few snacks laid out. I’m still confused as ever but I’m too scared to ask, scared to make things worse. 

“A lot of things have changed since you were gone, Lena.” I look up to Winston, his eyes uncharacteristically solemn and distant. 

“Support for Overwatch has declined significantly, funding has been cut, the public is rallying for our disassembly. A lot of the resources we have left have been diverted to strike missions in hopes of securing a high profile case and changing the public opinion. A few Watchpoints are abandoned now along with most of the Research Stations, this place was abandoned before Angela and I arrived.”

It would explain how some rooms had new tech while others were covered and dust or even locked shut all together. 

“So you two squatted here, trying to bring me back?”

“I prefer the word ‘occupied’. But yes, since we weren’t being tasked with projects from Overwatch, the two of us had all free reign to pursue affairs of our own. We spent two months here,” he reaches over and pats Angela gently on the back. She doesn’t look up from her cup of coffee. “Without Overwatch backing us, we had to draw funds from somewhere. Thankfully, Angela has plenty of patents under her name.”

My jaw slackens. They used their own credits for the sole purpose of bringing me back. Maybe to sole, but I don’t doubt that whatever they did costed them a fortune. Without even a guarantee of success. I’m speechless, as much as the two of them are trying to play it down, I want to somehow show them all the gratitude in the world. 

“I...tosh don’t know what to say, Thank you, for everything, for my life.” it makes me feel unworthy, while they could’ve been researching something to save lives or another; they focused on saving me. I won’t let them down. 

“You were worth every credit.” 

It’s not much, but I still smile with warmth blanketing my chest. Guess I am thankful towards Overwatch for a few things. A family, a purpose, people I love. 

“There is another thing you should know.” Angela finally speaks, pushing her now empty cup away. Anxiousness overcomes me at her hardened tone. 

“About two months after King’s Row, Morrison and Amari headed a squad to extract a team of scientists and engineers from a Talon post they were being held at. The hostages were all saved.”

“Zandra Salam was among them, she is safe-”

I don’t even hear the rest what what they say. The room spins, a squeezing hand latches onto my heart. It’s startling how visceral my entire body reacts to the news. A steam train of emotions barrels through my head; fear, anger, relief, worry, dread, longing, love.

Love

I’ve...missed her? Does she know what has happened? Bloody hell, I don’t know what’s new with her. Haven’t talked to her since I left Egypt. Over a year...I could’ve called her, done something…

Murcat was right, I just run away from my problems. 

“She’s...okay?” I cut off whatever Winston was saying. My eyes are unfocused but I can tell he’s smiling faintly.

“Yes, we wanted to inspect them for any neural alteration Talon might have done but the Egyptian Government demanded their return immediately. In the final report, they stated all of them were unharmed and passed strict loyalty tests.”

The memory of Fareeha comes back, how even after we had rescued them, the military whisked her away without even so much as a thank you. No word on her either, I...really hope…

Strict loyalty tests

What if they’re been brainwashed like Murcat.

“I’m gonna buzz her.” 

I get up to leave, heading towards the conference room. Winston catches me as I pass, my head is swirling, I don’t want to talk anymore, I just want to know that she’s alright. 

“Winston-”

“You can’t, the United Nations have all our communications tapped. They’re running an investigation of Overwatch.”

In an instant, like a flame to a match, my anger flares up. An investigation?! For all the shite we’ve done for them, they’re treating us like criminals. We’ve done nothing but make the world better. Sudden coldness seeps into my veins; Mongolia, London, those times I worked for Blackwatch. Am I...No, those actions were justified, for the good of the people. Just following orders, I’m just a soldier.

I don’t even realize I’m back in my seat, head cradled in my hands. It pounds, throbbing with an ache that stretches from my eyes to where the new anchor is bolted into my spine. It’s a lot of info to take in, so many things I missed.

“Another thing happened during that mission,” Winston hesitates as if searching for the right words. A bit strange, he’s usually so sure of his words. What other horrible thing has happened? 

It just makes me more worried. 

“Amari engaged a Talon sniper and was killed in action along with two other agents.”

Is it bad that I feel relief wash over me that the news didn’t involve Zandra? Three people dead, good people trying to  _ do what they think is right. _ But none of them matter to me, guilt; they should be family as much as Zandra was. 

It doesn’t shift. Comfort in the fact of they are dead and not Zandra. 

“Overwatch is failing. Start thinking of what you want your life to be after it crumbles.” Angela’s voice is so bitter, the promise of violence that chills me. 

It’s obvious that Winston is hurt by her words. The big guy really believes in this organization, to hear a close friend spit on the thing he loves. 

“How are you so sure we’re gonna be disbanded?” Angela keeps scaring me time after time. She’s smirking, but it’s not playful; it’s smug, almost evil. I’ve seen that look before, felt it…

_ A crooked smile, guilty glee. _

_ Another crack of thunder, I smile as the omnic goes down. _

“Their council called me in for a testimony, Morrison undoubtedly wants to blackmail me into following a script. He was once a good man, but his mental state has been altered by the power of his position; times have changed but he refuses to let go. Overwatch has to be shut down.” 

There is no remorse in her tone, nothing in her eyes. A simple hatred for what we have become. Is this how Talon gets us?, they find agents already on the fence and use that as a gateway. How do I know that this hasn’t already happened to Angela?

What if I’ve been indoctrinated then, I don’t even know it?

Bollocks, I need to stop thinking about it. I’m finally gone mad haven’t I? A little thing like this is pitting us against each other. When did it get this messy?

When did betrayal become so common?

“Incoming transmission from Delta 5 Transport, Airman Papier.” 

A voice chimes through the speakers overhead. An A.I? Not that uncommon, we usually never heard them on the overcomm. 

“Answer it.” 

“Gibraltar Watchpoint, Delta 5 Transport Papier request clearance to land in Hangar Bay 1.”

Angela is already slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder with an unreadable expression. It worries me to no end. 

Against all judgment, I grab her arm and pull her into an embrace. Maybe to comfort her, to comfort myself. It’s rough and I recognize that my heart still pines for her; if only slightly. But I’m also her friend and I can’t stand by and watch her suffer.  

I want her to be happy.

“Don’t worry about it, love.”

She doesn’t move. It hurts me, to think we once had something. Are we little more than strangers now. 

I’m about to let go when her arms wrap around me gently. Her muscles relax and I’m smiling over her shoulder, a rollercoaster yeah. She’s always pushing me away and then pulling me back in. 

But I’ll take it; we help people. And heroes are people too. 

“Thank you Lena, I hope your recovery goes well.” 

My heart splinters just a bit, can’t help feeling a touch of accomplishment to get her to crack out of her ‘business only’ mask she has going. It’s another goodbye, another short chapter. 

So much has changed. 

She goes over the checklist with Winston on what to keep an eye out for when I try blinking again. I trail behind the two of them, mind wandering.

How long ago was this watchpoint abandoned? 

What’s with the rations always having tomatoes in them?

How are Lucio and Zandra doing?

How am I going to tell them….

My mood sinks at the path my mind wanders down. There’s a good chance Murcat is still listed as MIA since Winston and Angela didn’t mention him. At least Winston knows I’m pals with the lad and he cared as much to mention Zandra. 

Should I just keep quiet about it?

The doors to the hanger bay slide open. My heart stops for the umpteenth time today, knees nearly buckling. A smile that hurts my face. 

“Trace the ace, good to see you alive, man.”

Speak of the bloody devil.

I would scoop him up, probably could if I really tried to. But can’t with his new skate legs, my chest blooming at the thought that Zandra finished them and got them approved oh bloody hell, don’t really matter cause my lad’s back. 

“Lucio! Fuck, I’ve missed you, mate.” 

We’re both grinning ear to ear as we rush into a hug. My chest feels incredibly light, elation pushing aside confusion. It makes it all better. He’s warm in my arms, shaking with laughter that bubbles up without a joke. 

Whatever the reason for his sudden appearance; it’s good to know he’s well. 

“What are you doing here?” We part, he stands a bit taller now with his new legs, I still have a few good centimeters on him though. 

“Ahh, they had me back at the Swiss base for ‘public relations’ but Morrison didn’t quite like how I like to deal with the press.” I raise an eyebrow. If there was anyone who knew how to work a crowd, angry or not, it was Lucio. “Was about to send me back to Brazil with an ‘undetermined leave of absence’, but when I overheard the report of you being back. I hopped onto the transport before anyone could say no. Papier here is a mighty good sport.” 

He brushes it off easily, completely dismissing the fact that he not only pissed off Morrison, but went against orders to come here. Crazy, he is. 

“Winston, how’s it hanging?” 

Ooo, this will be grand, the big guy always falls for it. 

He straightens up, bringing a hand to his chin with a tilt of his head. 

“Well, Dr. Zeigler and I just finished repairing Tracer’s anchor- Oh, I get it.” 

We share a snicker and a fist bump; always a bit slow for us youngsters, mate. 

I notice Angela drawing closer, her eyes trained on the glowing prosthetics attached to Lucio’s legs. After a moment, he sees her too, grinning and doing a little spin. 

“Hello, hello, doc. I see you eyeballing my skates. Check it out.”

With a running,  _ skating, _ start, Lucio charges at the wall and for a moment I almost expect him to slam face first into it. At the last moment, he leaps up, the hardlight blades emitting a grinding noise as they latch onto the vertical surface. Stride after stride, he defies gravity and glides along the length of the wall.

“Long as I keep moving, I can stick to anything. “ 

The brilliance of Zandra, optimism of Lucio, rolled into one. His eyes are as bright as the sun. A new life. The little things. 

“Tosh, guess I could say you’re light on your feet.”

He crumples to the ground in an unceremonious heap. Deadpanned eyes look up to me as I don’t even try to hold back my giggles. 

“I traveled all the way here for  _ this _ .”  

I offer my hand and help him back on his feet. 

“I would like to look at them more closely at a later time, Lucio. Perhaps the next time we run into one another.” 

“Sounds good, safe travels, doc.” He waves to her. After a nod, she looks to me, there’s conflict in her eyes again. 

It’s just wordless staring for a few moments, I hear Lucio poke more fun at Winston behind me. There’s something hanging in the air, like words we want to say, need to say, but will never be able to. 

Something about her just feel a bit...off. 

“Be careful out there,  _ hase.” _

It's a mixture of emotions when she uses the old nickname. Should be happy that she feels at ease, but I feel on edge and I don’t know why. I smile, it gets easier to hide. 

“No promises, love.”

Her chuckle is soft. A shake of her head and she’s walking up the ramp of the transport. I watch her go, the memories trickling back. Like every step reminding me of my days in Overwatch and if her word is good, these will be my last days in Overwatch. 

How much has changed, how much we’ve grown. 

Bittersweet. 

_ Is it crazy for someone to make me so happy and so sad at the same time? _

I give her a big smile, for the last time, and a two finger salute.

She smiles, smaller, and gives me a two finger salute.

For the last time. 

The door closes

The plane takes off

And so she’s gone

 

* * *

The harness is a bit bulkier with another carapace on the back to slot over the second anchor. First blink is wicked, feels faster but most of all it’s like I’m more in control of it. Can’t turn mid blink, not like that, but, I don’t know, don’t feel like I’m just dashing forward haphazardly. 

Winston has me run the obstacle course in the lab, Lucio takes a turn for shits and giggles. I still beat him though and cracks a joke about being 2 feet short of me. 

All is well, by the time the sun is setting, we’ve ran every test at least twice and Winston lets us go to write up the report. 

With two rations between us, Lucio and I sit on the rooftop next to the comm tower, watching the waves crash upon the cliffside. Orange paints the water. So colourful, it’s peaceful and takes my breath away. I think the ocean beautiful but there is still fear to licks at the underside of my mind. 

There’s just so much of it, not only across but  _ down. _ Perhaps somewhere out is there is mum...It’s just a thought.

Soon, a comfortable silence settles in after our chuckles die down from another story. 

Like no time has passed, like this is all routine. Two lads spending an evenin’ together. 

Soon, maybe that’s what it’ll become, without Overwatch, we could finally travel around together. Meet the folks, explore the world; things we used to dream up late nights at the Swiss base. 

“Hey Trace,” I look over to him, chewing away at a piece of biscuit. He reaches into the pocket of his cargo shorts, pulling out a holodisk. “I saw Zandra a few months back, she told me to give this to you the next time we met up. It was after you disappeared, she said if there was anyone you would see again, it would be me. Now I don’t know how true that is but hey, guess you’re here now.” 

My fingers are numb when he places the warm metal into my hands. I know it weighs no more than a sandwich, but it pulls at the threads of my heart for what it contains. What did she say, does she still…

It’s been so long

“I didn’t want to tip Winston off on it. You should check it out tonight.” He takes a breath, returning his gaze out into the endless ocean. “She still loves you, man.”

His voice is full of sadness, a touch of bitterness. Brown eyes downcast and heavy, I know what he’s thinking of. Shame pulls me down.

I need to tell him, he needs to know.

My fear is petty, maybe this will bring him closure. 

Or just cause him more pain.

“Lucio.”

The words die when he looks back at me. Is that hope I see? Does he think I have good news, maybe just another joke to crack to keep his mind off of it. I don’t want to tell him.

My palms sweat, like a boulder lodged in my throat. I choke on my tongue.

There’s already tears at my eyes, they burn as hot a with the gaze he pins on me. 

Take a breath.

Take it slow.

“I was working for Blackwatch in London, yeah.” I start off, gripping my pants into my hands. “Did some dodgy stuff, stuff that’ll look real bad if the U.N.’s investigation catches wind.”

A pang of guilt rips through my chest when I see him visibly relax. I know him but I don’t know how much this is going to hurt. 

“That’s alright Trace, we-”

“Let me finish, please.” He flinches back, I don’t mean it that snappy, oh please, I’m so sorry. 

“Bloody fuck, don’t know how to put this mate. I…” I want to run, take it all back. The pounding in my head and throat. Pretend it never happened, what he doesn’t know. 

I take a breath.

“I ran into Murcat.” 

Lucio instantly stiffens at the name. He tries to offer a smile but he can’t hide the tenseness of his shoulders. He knows it’s not good, I wouldn’t have delivered it like this if it was just a ‘we drank a pint and got piss drunk.’ Finally giving up, he sighs, gathering himself.

“Lena, tell me everything, don’t go sugar coating it, okay. I know you, don’t you dare run away from this.” He says very slowly, almost dangerous, almost pleading. It stings a bit but it’s nothing compared to...to..

“He bumped into me on the street, slipped me a note to me him at this pier unarmed. I didn’t know it was the lad ‘til he showed up. We,” I pause, unable to look at anything my hand hands twisted into each other. So much regret is being wracked up with every word. “We talked, he was captured by the cult ‘Beloved of Ma’at’, same one that took Fareeha Amari.”

“Fuck, I knew it, they were all over the place. How’d he get out?”

I didn’t think it was possible for my throat to constrict any tighter. 

“Talon.”

“What?!” He screams, gripping his hair in his hand. Wild eyes stare at me in disbelief. He searches them for a moment. “You’re not shitting me, this is real. Shit, oh shit. Trace, shit,  _ shit. _ ”

“Lucio, Lucio, I’m so sorry.” I can’t stop the words from falling. Just like when I confessed to Mondatta, worse, the monk didn’t have the eyes of judgement that Lucio is giving me right now. 

It’s bad enough. Just stop, I don't want to do it anymore.

“Trace, what happened?” 

It’s like he doesn’t want to hear it and I certainly don’t want to say anymore. But I know it has to be me, I’m his friend, for him, for Murcat. 

“Tried to get me to join Talon he did. I was leaving when he pulled a gun.” It gets harder, the prosthetic fingers throb and ache like during the sleepless nights at the London watchpoint. “I wrestled the gun away, had it at his throat. And I was so ready to pull the trigger. It hurt so much, to think our best mate’s nothing more than a snake in the grass.”

My words are broken, don’t even know if Lucio can understand what I’m saying but I keep going. 

“Widowmaker was looking after him, shot the gun right out of my hand, took my fingers with it. And then, fuck,” I hate myself, thinking back to how I lost it to my anger, how low I let myself become. A monster on par with Talon. How ironic it all is. 

I feel the cold of the water wash over me, the murky darkness blotting out the sky. Trapped again in this nightmare that keeps playing over and over again. 

“I tackled him into the river.” 

His body struggling against my grip. 

“And I blinked.”

The pulling, the blur, and the suffocating ink. 

“And blinked.”

_ I can’t see anything, just the roiling waters. I can’t see his face, but I sense it. Eyes wide with shock, mouth agape, drowning. _

“And blinked.”

_ Guilty satisfaction. _

“And left him down there as I recalled.” 

And it fades, the dark waters returning to the blazing sky. Roaring waters replaced by crashing waves and the pounding of my heart. Lucio is looking at me, eyes wide with horror, his mouth a deep scowl. It hurts more to see him like this, to know how much pain I’m putting him through. 

“You killed him.”

I hang my head in shame. There’s no denying the fact. I had no choice at that moment, I believed it was his life or mine, at the moment is was right. But in this moment, all I feel is remorse. Let Lucio be angry, keeping it bottled up only makes it worse. 

Take it out on me, I was the one who wronged you.

“You fucking killed him!” He leaps to his feet, shoving me to the ground. 

My shoulders and head hang off of the side of the building. A flash, the cold air of London with me on top of my false guardian, the sniper I once trusted. Oh such bitter irony. 

His tears fall hot onto my face, mingling with mine. I want to make it better, is there a way to fix this?

All my fault and I can’t fix it. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He punches me across the face; a jolt to my system. I’ve never seen him hit anyone, never seen him this angry. The little ray of sunshine...

“No you’re not!” Lucio cries, hitting me again with full force. I see stars, the only thing keeping me from from the edge is his weight on my stomach. “You could’ve been the better person, man. You could’ve blinked him into cover and let him puke up his guts, could’ve let him fucking live.”

His voice becomes quieter and quieter. My chest is hollow as I watch his face scrunch up behind his hand. Nothing I say could make this better. 

“I knew something was wrong with you when you buzzed. I thought it was just the mission, it’s always the mission. The fucking bastards put us through hell but this shit.” It’s no longer anger, just disappointment; betrayal. “Trace, you didn’t have to kill him, he was our friend, my  _ fucking  _ love. Did none of that counted for  _ something.  _ Did you even give him a chance to  _ surrender _ .” 

My mouth is dry, face is wet.

I’m sorry.

“All this time I spent hoping he’d show up. Maybe, he just got sick of Overwatch and slipped away ya know. Maybe he’d spring up in a hostage deal. You know, I hoped for you to find him on one of your runs and bring him home and look what happened.” Lucio sobs into my shoulder, hands now fists on my chest. 

I’m sorry

“He could have been brainwashed. He could've been screaming in his head as you  _ fucking  _ drowned him!”

He doesn’t say anything I haven’t already cried over. All of a sudden, he staggers off of me, taking a few steps back in fear. I watch him from the ground. 

“What if that was me, Lena. Would you have drowned me without a second thought and hid it from everyone. Would you have let everyone believe I was missing while you know the fucking truth.”

No, it’s not like that. This was different, I wasn’t me, was the stress of everything. I’m better, I’m doing so much better. 

“You haven’t told anyone else, have ya. Does Morrison know about this. Shit, does Mercy know how unstable you are?”

I flinch at how much the word stings.  _ Unstable _ . Like a ticking bomb ready to blow, untrustworthy, a burden. I curl up a bit on my side, the words hurt more than his fists. 

He doesn’t mean it, heat of the moment. Just angry, I’m sorry, it was a mistake. Please, I can’t have you of all people think that of me. He keeps backing away and I can’t bring myself to get to my feet. 

“And worst of all, you lied to me about it, Lena. I’m your bestfriend, doesn’t that mean anything to you? We literally  _ talked _ a few days after your fingers got blasted off. I  _ prayed _ for you. For that months you were recovering, you know many times I cried still missing Murcat? And you knew during that whole time, every time I buzzed you cause I was lonely, when we joked about the four of us living in a house on the beach. Shit, I...I trusted you.”

His body falls back to the ground, leaning up against the wall as he buries his face in his hands. He’s so drained, panting shallow breathes. I can barely hear his choked voice over the sound of the waves.

“When you disappeared and I called Zandra with the news. She invited me to come up. They let me for a weekend. We cried together, laughed together, promising we’d hold out hope. She loves you so much, ya know. And you have her while I have... I hope whatever’s on that holodisk breaks you heart you bastard.”

Lucio gets up and leaves without another look back. 

And I just lay on the ground.

And I just watch him go. 

I’m so sorry

 

* * *

The sky is dark, the waves still breaking against the jagged cliff face. Stars dot the endless black, I would find them beautiful if it weren’t for the hole in my chest. 

I haven’t moved from the spot which Lucio left me. Might have been an hour or two ago, keeping track of time hasn’t been my priority. 

I can’t take back what I’ve done

Can’t take back what I’ve said.

I just need to move forward. And hopefully Lucio can do the same. He’ll grieve the same way I grieved after the weight of all those people I killed came bearing down on me. I would like to think I’ve moved on, become a better person. 

Somehow redeem myself

I would like to believe it.

Mondatta helped me find peace. 

I look out to the churning waters, how the moon sits perfect in the sky but it’s reflection is broken in the waves, destroyed by something it unknowingly controls. But the moon itself remains solid.

Feels like there is some metaphor to be found…

 

* * *

Winston comes and finds me some time later. Find it strange that he don’t call me on the comm but then I remember about the U.N. tapping and shite. 

He rushes to my side, head high looking for possible hostiles.

“Tracer. Are you injured, are-”

“I’m fine big guy.” I reply weakly. 

I glance up, his face wracked with worry. Gentle hands pick me up, his arm coming around to balance me up to his chest. The softness of his fur under the fabric of his shirt brings me a surprising amount of comfort. I cling on like a child.

He gives me a once over, not finding any injuries but my puffy, red eyes.

“Would you like to explain yourself?”

Don’t know if he heard us shouting or if Lucio had told him anything. Did the lad run off, is he even still on the base? 

We enter the building, all the rooms we pass are dark and empty. 

“Can I do it in the morning?” I‘m running away again, but I’m just so tired, so empty.

I was doing so well and now this…

“First thing, alright?” 

I nod into his chest, focusing on the swaying of each step.

_ Whoever carrying me isn’t running, the steps are too smooth, almost like swaying, swimming, dancing. _

The memories are torture. 

A pill is placed in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He watches as I take it. The water flows against numb nerves. I slide into bed, he pulls the covers up over me. The silence lasts until he is closing the door to the quarters that should been rooming six, now it’s home to one barely complete soul. 

“Sleep well, Lena.” 

He waits for an answer that my vocal cords refuse to supple. And so he shuts the door allowing darkness to conquer the room. 

I feel tears trickle down the corners of my eyes. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

The apology falls upon the deaf ears of the world.

 

* * *

 

_ Another morning, another night of regrets. _

The sun pours in and so does the familiar feeling of emptiness. I feel heavy in the cot, weightless in a sense. Floating, again, lost, I was doing so well. 

A knock at the door, too heavy to be Lucio. What would I even say if it was Lucio. 

“Winston here.”

“Come in.” It’s cute that someone as big as him asks permission to enter my room. 

He shuts the door behind him, seating himself at the side of the bed and extending out a cup of tea. It’s scalding to the touch, undoubtedly burning its way down my throat. I keep drinking it by the mouthful. I lavish in the pain. 

“How are you feeling?”

_ I really have to stop doing this myself.  _

“Like death.” I croak out, wanting to just curl up into a ball and disappear from the world.

I know there is so much to the world. Hard to bring myself to care when I’ve destroyed my friendship with Lucio. They will say that it will pass. 

_ Wake up, shower, toothbrush _

Please let it pass. 

I tell Winston everything, teary eyed and having to pause for breath every other sentence. Once more, I wade through the anguish of my past actions. Someone should know how much I regret it, it don’t make it all better, I know, but it’s a start. 

And he just listens. 

Hours pass; from flying in the plane with Zandra, to the girl at the Crosses Pub, to my guardian angel turned Talon operative. To Murcat, to Mondatta, to my fight with Lucio. 

_ Get dressed _

He doesn’t have much advice to give, I don’t expect it from him. A scientist, not a psychiatrist, but a friend. Tells me that it’s okay to move on, I’m alive now and that’s all that matters. And if Murcat had truly been turned to Talon, he was better off dying before he could hurt anyone else. 

It’s the best he can offer

Winston walks to the door and tells me to find him in the lab when I’m feeling up for a task to keep my mind busy. 

_ Pills, mirror, smile Lena _

It still aches, but I know it will get easier. 

 

* * *

A week passes and I don’t even catch a glimpse of Lucio. Winston assures me that he’s still on the base, mulling around and doing outreach over the web. He’s talked to him. Lucio will find me when he’s ready. 

Will I be ready when he is?

For me, I’ve been zipping around the watchpoint, gathering parts off a list Winston gave me from old tech. A few batteries here, some sort of matrix-engine there, the paper has pictures which is a grand help. Don’t do much other than meditate on the cliffside, listening to the waves roll by.  

It’s busy work, but it’s the damned best feeling when Winston slaps it all together to make a new prototype for his jump pack. 

 

* * *

I’m in the hanger when I hear footsteps behind me. It’s not the pair of thunderous beats characteristic to Winston’s, so it’s either Lucio or a hostile trying to get the jump on me. 

Don’t know which one I’d prefer. 

“Hey Trace, you got a minute?”

I gingerly extract myself from over the side of the truck I’ve been rummaging through. Really, I want to turn him away and continue avoiding this conversation. Nevertheless, it’s about time we both get some closure. 

“Always for you, mate.” 

Our smiles are hesitant, our hands restless and awkward. We end up just sitting down on the hanger floor, gazing up at the massive plane decommissioned above us. He fiddles with his hands for a moment before beginning.

“Look, I’m sorry for blowing up on you. It was hard news to hear and I shouldn’t have used you as a scapegoat.” 

My relief is tentative. It’s a good start, maybe we can actually work past this. 

“I don’t like what you did, but it was a shitty situation you were put in. What I’m trying to say is, I’m happy that you’re still alive.” The pressure lifts from my chest. My lad, my mate, I won’t let you down. 

He’s the first to open his arms for me to hug him. It feels...almost right. Sad, but we’ll get there. 

“Thank you.” 

He pats me back and we take a moment to wipe the tears away from our eyes. We chuckle at nothing, maybe just the absurdity of it all. How it started so simple; people to help, a good fight. To this mess. 

The moment passes, we’re smiling again, heart light.

“So, what was on that holodisk anyways?” 

“Bollocks!” I slap the side of my forehead. “I completely forgot about it.”

I bounce to my feet and sprint towards the sleeping quarters, Lucio only a hair behind. 

“Forgot? How on Earth did you forget about it?” 

“Being sad does things, mate.” 

I flick the light on and there it sits on the corner of the desk. Worry and hesitation come to a boil inside of me. Do I really want to know what’s on this disk.

Frigid air heaves across my skin. The smell of ozone, tears on my face, my finger resting on the tigger. A promise I have to keep.

_ I’m sorry _

_ I won’t let it happen like this _

_ We’ll fix it. _

Such sorrow, I can’t let myself get attached. It will only hurt me more. 

A death roil, the sensation new and frightening. A side effect of a second anchor perhaps

“-get Winston”

I lash out and catch his arm before he can skate away. The room fades back into place. I’m on the bed, distressing breaths, fingertips tingling. I’m fine, I’m okay.

“Don’t worry about it love,” I can’t come up with anymore than that. He seems to understand though, I don’t want to drag Winston into this right now.

As sudden as the vision comes, it’s gone and I’m steady on my feet with the disk in hand. I will see what’s on it, I want to, need to. It’s face is standard, nothing to give away it’s contents. 

Something deep within me warns not to play it. It’s just hesitation, something I’m used to by now. 

“You want to stay for it?” I ask him. I‘d like him to, we’re together on this, do or die, like old times. 

“If you’ll have me.”

It sounds familiar.

We lay down on the single bed with the tech between us. A glance and I power it up, a blue light popping up from the surface. 

And it’s her, Zandra Salam, little miss ‘how about a date?’ And I’m already smiling at the sight of her face. It’s a bit sharper now, her hair pulled back into a military style bun. Hard to tell with the quality of holograms, but I think I see bags under her eyes, her lips drawn into a tired smile. 

“Hey Lena, it has been seven hours since Lucio buzzed me about your disappearance and...wow, this is the fourth time I’ve re-recorded this and I still don’t know what to say. 

Work is going well, They’ve promoted me to one of the heads of my sector after I designed a failsafe to trap Anubis in a time pocket if it were to ever break through our firewalls. My team and I are heading to Belarus for a conference to show off how it works. I owe it all to you.”

The transmission cuts. She must’ve stopped and started another recording. It’s her again, brushing imaginary hair out of her face. 

“Life is good, my father hates the orange curtains but I keep them around. Sajeet is going to be starting classes on nursing, it has been something he’s wanted to do his whole life. After seeing me succeed, he finally got the courage and signed up. If you don’t remember, he’s the one who accidentally spilled beer down your back. 

I adopted a stray cat I found in the warehouse a week ago. Tiny little grey guy, he gets along great with Cleo. I named him Mouse, if you saw him, you’d know why.

I miss you every day,  _ habibi, _ sometimes I go to the fruit stand in the morning just waiting for you to show up. Cleo made a such fuss the first month, you don’t know how many laps she did around the apartment looking for you. And yes, I know you stole one of my shirts, it was one of my favorite that I picked out with my mother. Jokes on you though, you left on entire outfit in my room so we’re even.”

It cuts again and I’m forced to acknowledge the wetness of my eyes. Even lucio has a mournful smile on his face. 

When the image comes back up, her hair is no longer in a bun; it’s splayed out like a fan, she must be lying down on something. 

“I know they’ll bring you back, Lena. Winston, Angela, and all the brilliant minds at Overwatch. My high-ups forbade me to get involved, they said we don’t want to associate ourselves with an disgraceful organization like Overwatch. I’ll do what I can without them finding out, but I...I just know they’ll find a way. 

And I know you told me not to wait for you, but the heart doesn’t always want to listen to the mind and my heart is a wanker. I can’t just let you go; you were the brightness of my day, the coffee in my cup, and it isn’t until now do I realize how much I need you in my life. 

_ Bamoot feek _ (I die in you), Lena. Everyday, every time I walk past the stand or se bright yellow. Everyone wants me to move on, my uncles thinks I am crazy to still love you. He says I should be married by now with kids and...”

It doesn’t cut this time, just a long pause of her wiping her eyes and taking steady breaths. I reach out, even though it’s ridiculous, and try to feel her face. My hand passes through the stream of light. 

“When you get this...And if you would like...Come back to Cairo and visit me, you’ll always have a place in my home.”

I find myself nodding, making promises I cannot keep. 

“I love you,  _ habibi.” _

“I love you too.” 

“Until tomorrow.”

The recording ends. The silence is heavy. We both lay and let it all sink in. Like my chest torn open, what’s holding me back from going to her. Why does it feel...wrong?

“Let’s do it.” 

_ “That’s a crazy idea.” For a moment, I think he might say no. “Let’s do it!” _

“You’re joking.” 

He gets up, just like last time, pulling me to my shaky feet. His eyes are bright enough to light up the world and I find myself grinning with him. 

“What is there to lose man! Overwatch ain’t got nothin’ on us. We can catch a plane and fly out, it’ll be like old times.”

I wince a bit,  _ old times.  _ Except for all that has changed. But then I think about how it would be like without a commander to report to. A uniform to wear, tasks to complete. No mission, no lights out, just a couple of blokes out on the town.

_ Not a care in the world. _

_ Free _

_ A distraction _

And it feels…

Indescribable

 

* * *

Two weeks later and it breaks.

The news hits everyone hard.

‘Explosion at the Overwatch Headquarters in Switzerland. Leadership in shambles, no foul play suspected, is this the last straw for the international organization.’

Winston calls us both into the mess hall to watch it unfold. 

Hundreds dead

Years of research destroyed

Personal documents at risk.

People are already taking sides. It’s horrible to watch the world turn against us and tear us apart like dogs. We had braced ourselves for our disbandment, but not like this…

After an hour, there are no more new developments. We try out the comms to reach out to other watchpoints. Everything has been cut with the recorded message of “Due to pending investigations, Labyrinth Communication Systems have been suspended during off mission times.” 

There isn’t much for us to do but try to distract ourselves while we wait for more information.  

I hold Lucio’s and Winston’s hands in the dead hours of the night while they read off a list of those killed and those still missing. It’s a lot of names I don’t recognize but to think that every single one of them fought to make a difference in the world.

My breath is held for those I do remember.

Jack Morrison

Gabriel Reyes

Mary Pardenilla

Alex ‘Lander’ Florez

It’s a lot of my squad, they must’ve been back at the base when it happened. 

At the end, when it’s done and the reporter starts to commentate on the tragedy, they telly is shut off and we sit silent in the mess hall. 

So many dead and the world doesn’t care.

They don’t mourn for us anymore.

“Lucio...can we pray for them. Please.” I don’t pray, I never felt the need to. Even after Mondatta taught me how to center myself, to find peace and balance, it was never praying to a high one. 

Right now, I don’t know.

He bows his head, and though I didn’t think he would, Winston does too. Our hands clasp a bit tighter. I feel as though it isn’t to a God that we pray, but to the hope that there is peace to be found. At least that’s what I tell myself.

“Eternal rest, grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.”

And for a moment, I pour my heart into it. So much pain in the world, no one deserves it. 

“Amen.” 

 

* * *

Lucio and I stay up until the sun streams into our quarters, talking about miscellanies things. We check the news every so often, nothing more than conspiracy theories and the such. The investigation is cracking down hard, there’s to be a televised questioning as per the ‘Transparency Act’. 

Guess Reyes and his lackies got that through. 

 

* * *

Winston excuses himself to watch the questioning in private. We don’t comment, shutting ourselves in our quarters to watch the courtroom pan out on the screen. It drags on and on; a witness, a recess, a witness, another recess. I vaguely recognize a few faces from passing in the halls, nothing much considering Lucio and I usually dealt with our personal squad commanders or Morrison himself. 

It’s not until Angela is called up do we both sit up straight, pillows clutched tight in our arms. Her face is impassive.

"After Morrison's promotion to strike commander, his relationship with Reyes changed,"

She says plainly with no remorse. It’s the first time the relation has been acknowledged during the entire hearing, even the courthouse breaks out in a quiet murmur. 

"The tension became more pronounced as time went on. I tried to mend things. We all did. Sometimes when the closest bonds break, all you can do is pray you stay out of the cross fire."

It’s as if she is pinning the blame of our fall onto Morrison and Reyes. I look over to Lucio, his jaw just as slack as mine as we hear Angela go, ruthlessly picking apart the flaws that Overwatch had gathered under the leadership of Morrison.

She is the last witness to be called. The hearing ends and the panel is released to make its decision. With a testimony like that, from some who was so high in the ranks, I already know what the verdict is going to be.

 

* * *

We get official word two hours after the broadcast. Agents have 72 hours to vacate all watchpoints and allow local United Nation forces reclaim weapons and technologies. We are to turn in all passes and documents, sign gag orders, become regular citizens of our respective countries. 

With whatever funds Overwatch has left, each of us are offered relocation to our homeland or a country of our choosing if the government agrees. 

It’s not even a question as we pack our bags for Cairo, Egypt.

 

* * *

“You sure you’ll be alright alone, Winston?”

I grin at him, enjoying the exasperated look on his face. 

“Yes, I think I can manage without you two hiding away my peanut butter.”

He has decided to stay at Watchpoint Gibraltar, the U.N. only allows it because he’s a scientist and he technically did build most of it with his own two hands during the early days. 

The people of the airport bustle around us, some giving looks of disgust as they recognize who we used to be. It’s odd to say the least. A bit infuriating, humiliating. To go from celebrated heroes to this. 

“You two stay safe out there. You know how to reach me if something happens.” 

A secret software update that he sent out across all our comms, at least the ones Winston trusted. Dubbed it ‘recall’, if anything were to cock up real bad, we’d be able to override the U.N.’s firewall and open up lines without them knowing. 

But only for emergencies.

We deserve to live like normal folk for a bit. 

“See you around, Winston.” Lucio taps his fist against Winston’s comically larger one. 

It’s like I don’t want it to end but I’m just so tired with it all. A new life, something better. Don’t mean I can’t keep helping people, yeah? Don’t need Overwatch for me to do what’s right. 

I give Winston the biggest hug I can.

For the last time.

“Cheers, love.”

And so we make our way through the security scanners, the man scowls at the harness on my chest but lets me through anyways. The plane is sparsely filled with various other Overwatch agents from the area, all being dropped off at various locations on the way towards the plane’s final destination of Yemen. 

I can easily pick out Winston through the large glass walls of the airport. 

The seat is soft and rather cozy. Lucio is already settling in and picking through the playlist he made. Lighthearted, eager, excited. I am something, happy maybe, afraid.

But a new adventure.

I wave to Winston.

He waves back.

The plane takes off

And so we’re gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY . Not the most jam packed chapter but here it is. I spent the longest on this chapter. Yes, I’m safely tucked away in utah, will be starting classes on Monday. It’s surprisingly hot here and mosquitoes are bastards. I am truly touched by your review/comments, it’s good to hear what you guys think of the story.
> 
> And yes, I really like it when you come up with little juicy conspiracy stories of your own.
> 
> Also, kind of off topic, but a bomb ass mate translated my other fic ‘Hello Love’ into chinese and it’s the coolest thing ever. ( http://chashisi2333.lofter.com/post/1e31d638_c2163af ) Ah, just self prompted but yeah, I am deeply honored even though it’s a smut fic they chose BUT YEAH. It’s cool and they worked hard on it so cheers.
> 
> In any case, we’ll see where this goes and how much time I’ll have to keep updating but i swear on me mum that this baby is being finished.


	16. Chapter 16: Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, so I just got through midsemeter while and prop mastering a show and whipping this out after a hella long hiatus. Not quite hiatus considering all the other stuff I've posted too. Enjoy the fluff, next come a bit of smut, then back to more ball dropping :D

Another blazing sun that basks the cities below in a sea of orange and red.

The hours don’t seem long, it’s the frequent landings that has me on edge. I don’t want to watch them go but all the same; normal lives, that’s what we deserve yeah?

We’ve served our time, time to go home.

Home

I look out the window as we take off again. Everything becomes so small so quickly. In a blink of an eye and a handful of breaths, we’re kilometers high above the city buildings that look like toys, the people like specks of dust.

Still takes my breath away to see it all again from this height.

Don’t quite know what we’re gonna do once with touch down in Cairo. Guess give Zandra a buzz, but it’s evening, think she ought to be at work. Could just head to a hotel ‘til morn, surprise her so she don’t have any distractions on the job. She a bit of a big wig now, making a name for herself.

Something like pride swells in my chest.

But what if she don’t even want to see us; like a white lie, saying it just to be nice. What if her feelings have changed? Been 7 months since I disappeared, does she even know I’m back.

Does she think I’m died in the Swiss explosion?

Should’ve called her, bloody hell, I’m a terrible person. Been back for weeks and don’t even think about ringing my…

My girlfriend?

It’s all so confusing, what are we now?

_Don’t wait for me._

I didn’t wait for her...Those nights in London, lonely and needing someone to hold. Did she get lonely? Will she be okay with that, will I be okay with her doing the same? Rubbish, terrible, terrible person.

The sun is warm against my face, reminds me of better days. Days of a relaxed life, maybe in another universe or maybe in a few days. I can imagine it; Zandra welcoming us in with open arms. Lucio and I cocking about before all of us hopping to Brazil to meet his folks. Maybe even to ‘ol Blighty to meet my pops.

We’ll settle down, do some charity work, Lucio will head a few protests, I’ll find time to finally fly him around. Been meaning to do that. We’ll be laughing and smiling. Zandra and I will get married, grow old together with two cats.

I see the soft reflection of my smile in the window, didn’t even know I was smiling. I am happy, yes?

Tired eyes.

Maybe

‘My girlfriend’

We’ll see, yeah?

 

* * *

 

“Oi Lucio, get your arse up, we’re here!” He snorts and jerks awake from his nap, a flash of irritation before he registers my words.

Tearing off his headphones, he ducks to look past me and out of the porthole. The beige skyline gets closer and closer before there is the gentle bounce of the grav-pads latching onto the ground. His grin goes wide and he grabs onto my shoulder, shaking them excitedly.

“Trace, man, don’t know about you but I’m hella stoked. Did I ever tell you that I love the food here?”

We throw some banter around, gathering up our things and heading towards the hatch with another nameless face I don’t recognize. He nods to us, exiting out first.

“Cheers, cap’t!” I shout up to the cockpit, the shadow of a hand waving back at us from pilot seat.

I’m not the slightest bit prepared when the scorching sun hits me face first. My skin already starts screaming in protest after the first five seconds. If there was anything I didn’t miss from Egypt, it was the heat.

It’s a little airport that we’ve landed in, about the size of the one that Zandra brought me to fly the Dragonfly. Might actually be the same one, don’t really know exactly where we are really. I squint along the horizon, trying to pick out anything I recognize.

“Greetings.”

That voice. I whip to the side where a tall woman stands in a well fitted uniform. She has a conservative smile but her eyes sparkle with familiarity.

“Bollocks, s’that you Fareeha?!”

I resist the urge to leap up and koala onto her; honestly, I didn’t expect to see her ever again. I rush past her extended hand and wrap my arms around her and her arm rubbing against me, Lucio must’ve taken the lame route instead of joining me in a bear hug.

She is impossibly stiff, feels like hugging a tree. Guess she didn’t really change much but, considering what happened to her. Tosh, I wanna know everything, if she’s doing alright, what is she doing here, don’t the Egyptian military hate us?

“The sentiment is appreciated.” There’s a tug at the duffle bag on my back as she gently pries me off her.

It’s the closest to ‘good to see you too’ I think I’ll ever get from the woman. The moment she lets go, I grab her hand, ready to go off on another spiel when I realize how smooth it is, how hard and-

“Bloody fuck.”

The words are like stones in my throat, rattling as my breath struggles past them. My smile drops, speechless and numb. How did I not notice at first glance?

The hand is metal. Prosthetics. The night I rescued her, the blood, smell of decaying flesh. It comes back as I stare at the blue and gold segments. Was my fault, should’ve gotten there sooner, should’ve found another way.

_Again, I pull the trigger_

_Again, debris rains down_

_Again, wet pellets bounce off my goggles._

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, brushing over the back of the hand.

“Don’t be, there is no one to blame but the enemy.”

Boy that killed the mood quick.

She pulls her hand back but not before noticing my right hand. Our prosthetics touch, a tap that I don’t really feel nerve wise but deep down, like a little connection; a mutual understanding. I glance over to Lucio and his legs, Fareeha following the gaze, her eyes softening. All of them a story of their own.

Yeah, a grim understanding.

“So, you here for business, love?”

Fareeha shakes her head, motioning us to follow her out of the stifling heat and towards shade of the parking lot.

“I was discharged from the military with honors, they wanted to put me at a desk for a few years until they became confident with my prosthetics. I declined, Helix Security offered me an active duty position. They are training me to pilot a Raptora suit.”

Don’t know what that is but the pride in her voice sends shivers down my spine. She was worse for wear the last time I saw her, she didn’t turn out like me. Or at least at times or now or, not making sense am I? Important thing is, Fareeha’s doing well, sounds like she’s found her purpose again, think she’s happy if that little smirk is anything to go by.

Good news, music to my ears. Makes my heart just a bit lighter.

“I would like to formally thank you, Lena.” She looks at me from the side, sorta hard to see her eyes considering how bloody tall she is. “Perhaps I can offer you two a place to stay. I can assist with gaining residency documents.”

Lucio and I share a glance, the question in the air. We didn’t really think this through, all we know is we’re seeing Zandra, then seeing Lucio’s folks at some point. This is not what we wanted; logistics and shite.

“I think we’re good, we’re gonna be staying with a friend and at least for me; I’m bouncing to good old Brazil after a bit.” Lucio replies with a shrug.

Fareeha nods, face as impassive as always. She leads us to a navy blue car that matches her prosthetics. Through the window, I can see the insides trimmed with gold as well. I nearly scoff to see even the trunk color coded as she opens it for us to plop our bags in.

The woman’s so bloody confusing; like a rock soldier type then you pick at the little things; the bad puns she would make when she visited the base, an entire color scheme for car to match her arms. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, a bloody nerd she is.

“Then let me take you two to one of my favorite restaurants to welcome you back to Egypt.”

 We hop into the back seat of the delightfully air conditioned car. Sleek leather, of course.

“This is gonna be ballin’! Bet ‘cha 5 creds we’ve already eaten there.” Lucio quips.

I grin, even spot a little tug on Fareeha’s lips from the rearview mirror.

It’s good to be back.

___

Lucio now owes me 5 credits.

The place has the best kebabs I’ve ever tasted. It takes a bit to ease in the conversation as we tiptoe around what to talk about; course Lucio brings up sports first to break the ice. I remember the night at the sports bar where Fareeha didn’t seem all too interested in basketball, but the lad brings it up and her eyes lights up like a torch.

Hm, maybe was just the teams that night she didn’t like.

“The Jackals will definitely defeat the River Ways this season.”

“Naw man, Kalib with that shoulder? They’re good as done with ‘em down.”

“True, but it is called a ‘team’ sport for a reason.”

Fareeha opens up a bit; her arms were too far gone from the damage. Not my fault, she says, they were a lost cause by the time I… She speaks with graceful ease, assurance, not my fault. Move on, she’s done enough mourning, done enough therapy. The past is to be remembered, not lived in.

An Amari through and through.

The doctors recommended her to pick up an instrument or a sport to help her coordinate herself with her new prosthetics. Not one to sit at a piano for hours on end, she started joining in pick-up games at the park, gym, local army base; wherever she could.

“Yeah, took me a bit to learn how to walk again. Fell flat on my face first time, remember Trace?” We both snicker. Doctors picked him off the floor, his lip busted but his brilliant smile shining through.

“How could I forget?”

“How about you, Tracer. The last I recall, you had all of your fingers.”

And a silence falls over us. Every ounce of tension we had managed to ease out of Fareeha comes right back. The look of regret is instantaneous on her face. I glance over to Lucio, I’m ready to tell it, made my peace with what I did. Nothing wrong with talking about it, makes me feel better at least.

But his face is anxious, after a bit, he shakes his head. I shut my lips into a slight frown. I’m torn between saying it just to spite him, not spite, no, but maybe it’ll help him along. He still thinks me the baddie when it was Murcat that attacked me first. Was him who joined Talon, not me. Don’t even know how many people he killed before getting to me.

I did what I needed to do and defended myself. Did what was right yeah?

Lucio don’t see it that way, does he?

Does he not believe Murcat tried to kill me? Does that even matter to him?

I can feel the frustration growing the more I think about it. Wish we could just talk, know we did for a bit at Gibraltar, but really. What’s hurting him, how can I help?

Lucio’s my friend.

“A story for another time, love.” I say as I turn back to her.

As much as I want to tell her, I’d rather have my lad comfortable. Feels a bit bitter, but if time is what he needs, I’ll be the bigger person and give him all the time he needs.

“I apologize for asking.”

Instead, the conversation shifts to the types of prosthetics we were given. It’s curious, yes the tech is of the same frame; the fact that they’re of different limbs, and in my case; another country of origin, there are such big differences.

Mine and Fareeha’s are almost identical; electrical and some aluminum alloy to make ‘em light and, as Fareeha found out, so they don’t stick to magnets. Electric to make ‘em finer tuned for handsy things. But Lucio’s are of carbon fiber and hydraulics save for the hard light blades at the bottom. The single pump where his calf should be is designed to be resilient; more strength than control. Less neural sensors in his, he once tore one of the hoses and started dripping everywhere without even noticing.

Nearly got fined for creating a toxic spill. Flippin’ tosser.

Bet Zandra would be proud of all the jargon we’re throwing about.

Zandra…Haven’t thought about her all night.

Wonder if she still has a little scar on her neck. How has life been treating her?

“It is getting late and I am sure you two would like some rest to get adjusted.” Fareeha snaps me out of my thoughts. Course Zandra of all things makes me space out in the middle of a conversation.

She taps on the screen embedded into the table to pay and we pile back into her car. The streets of downtown are so alive, even on a weekday night. There’s little vendor charts selling food, trinkets and what not. There’s a balloon vendor that’s handing over a monkey shaped one to a little boy as we drive by.

A bright little smile on his face that stands out amongst the motion blur. Young, so full of potential.  Perhaps he’s alive because of us. Need to think like that, make it all worth it.

“So where am I dropping you two off?”

“Oh, ah, Maadi Court.”

The car chimes with directions, the overlay on the windshield highlighting which turns to take. I brace myself for her to ask about Zandra. Fareeha is from Cairo and with her mother in Overwatch, don’t doubt she knows about the presentation. Has she made the connection, did Lucio fill her in when I hopped to the loo?

Unless she already knows, or maybe she doesn’t know? Does she know that I know she doesn’t know?

Thinking about this too much.

We’re almost to Zandra’s flat and Fareeha doesn’t even come close to inquiring about the woman. Maybe she don’t care, or she’s feels awkward asking about it? My heart is pounding, bracing for the question that might not come. It makes me want to just tell her, like a thing hanging in the air that only I can see. Why won’t she ask?

My hands clench tight in my lap as I stare heatedly at the back of her neck. Her eyes flick to me in the rearview mirror and I quickly dart my gaze out the window. Blasted woman. She don’t care, none of them do. Not about my well-being, how I feel; Lucio don’t even want me telling my side of the story about my fingers.

Breathe

That’s not the case. I’m so on edge, gotta keep an open mind.

It’s not a bad thing, just respects my privacy. I let out a little sigh. Need to calm down, I’m already all cocked-up and ain’t even been a day yet.

Well...

Overwatch was just denounced and disbanded. All the big wigs ‘cept for Reinhardt are dead. Things between me and my lad are looking a bit rocky, or maybe that’s just in my head.  And now we’re in Cairo, Egypt where we discover Fareeha has prosthetic arms and…

The car pulls into an empty parking spot beneath a towering apartment complex that’s speckled with illuminated windows.

We just pulled up to my girlfriend, ex, something _someone_. Zandra Salam.

Little miss “How about a date?”

And that’s my heart trying to pry its way out of my chest.

“Do not hesitate to call me if you need any assistance.”

Go through the motions, a face to hide the shite-storm in my head, bag slung over my shoulder.

“Cheers, love!”

“Yeah, thanks man!”

We wave her off as she pulls out into the streets. Turning around, the building looks a whole lot taller and more intimidating than it did a year ago.

“Man, can’t wait to see Zandra again.” I do my best to play along but I don’t doubt he notices the hesitation in my steps. Gettin’ cold feet, I'm excited, over the bloody moon, but breathless and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing. 

Her face, her smile, her cooking and the brilliant sex. Tosh, I miss her but can’t help how utterly terrified I am. The wait for the lift, then the lift ride itself. We banter, bettin’ on whether the new cat will like us or not and who could get it to purr first. But it’s all just a distraction because I can barely hear him over the thumping of my heart, can barely take steps forward when everything is screaming for me to turn and run.

The doors open, it’s her floor, I still remember it after all this time. And her door, a cream color with a-

“Can’t believe she still has it up.” I flick the little British flag charm hanging on the hook stuck to her door.

It’s one of the gaudy things that my pops sends me now and again. Handmade, carved and painted. My favorite is this little steaming cup of tea he sent me a while back; still got in my jewelry box somewhere. Zandra stole the flag one off my phone, compensated me quite well for it actually.

A night to remember.

The sight of it warms me up a bit at the same time of making me even more scared. “Oh, she still cares” and “oh... _she still cares.”_ Do I care about her as much as she does for me, don’t know until I try. A journey, together, we’ll see yeah?

The knocks on the door echo in the hall as well as my chest. And we wait for an answer. I ring the doorbell, hearing it chime from within. My hands get fidgety. The gap underneath the door remains dark.

No answer.

“Tosh, she’s probably still working night shifts.” I don’t realize how tense my shoulders are until Lucio puts a hand on one. I look to him, sympathy clear on his face.

“We’ll come back tomorrow morning then, let’s grab a couple drinks and crash at hotel.” He offers a smile before leading me away.

It’s a bit strange; apprehension, eagerness, fear, relief, all these things just swirling about in my chest. Can’t get me head straight. Keep thinking about it, about her. It’d be easier to pretend all this never happened. Ahhh, do I really want to see her again?

Half a mind to ask Lucio to drop her entirely. ‘Running away’ he’d say. Just avoiding a problem, ain’t nothing wrong with that.

We’re a couple steps away, I look back to the closed door with no light shining out from the bottom. The lone British flag charm hanging on its face.

There’s disappointment, heartbreak, a sort of foreboding that’s telling me to never look back again. It feels like that night in the bathroom with Angela and the kiss and… Just something telling me to stay away.

Eyes to the carpet, put a smile on. It’ll pass, it always does. There’s a bar down the road we used to always hang out at. The thought of it brings familiarity. The four of us, the better days.

 

* * *

 

Forgotten how much I love the beer in Egypt; nice and strong to make you forget how bloody hot the place is. The bar hasn’t changed much, same wooden tables with names and peckers knifed into ‘em. Same barkeep that recognizes us with a smile, even after all this time. The same table that is miraculously empty when we walk in.

But there are different people seated with us, a trio who at first asked for an autograph from Lucio and then offered to buy us a round. Amongst the sidelong glares we get, there is always that handful that greet us with warm words and gratitude.

“-the bouncer comes and fucking tackles the dude right off the stage. All I hear is ‘Check it out!’ before a scream and a thud.”

I lean back in my seat, setting my drink onto the table to not spill it from the laughter bubbling out of my mouth. Heard this tale before, but the lad was always a good story teller.

“If I may ask, how did you lose your legs?” I stiffen up, it’s hardly bar conversation, especially with strangers we just met, but Lucio just chuckles and leans forward to start another.

Must be the alcohol, we are a good ways in. Or maybe he’s letting the fame get to his head. Again, he recounts the same tale he told Fareeha, adding in a handful of dramatic pauses and heroics. He has them on the edge of their seats and doing their little gasps after every line.

I frown into my drink. It’s not fair, got them looking at him like a god, piss, first his music, now he’s got fans in everything. What about me, I got some stories, we all do good work, and don’t I deserve a smile and a thank you.

It’s an ugly feeling, envy, I don’t do it for the glory.

“What about you, Oxton, your fingers.”

He points to my right hand. I grin and set my drink on the table, the buzz working wonders for my confidence.

“Charmed you asked, mate. We had some rats in the ranks of Overwatch and someone had to deal with ‘em.” I feel Lucio’s gaze burning into the side of my face. He’s not happy but at this point, I don’t really care. My head feels good, their looks are eager and it’s about time I get to share my story. “See, I was in London working with-”

“They don’t need to know all the details, Trace.” He’s trying to play it off as a breach of our gag order, innit he? He told them things we never released to the press, and now he’s trying to crack down on me? No, I nearly died too, mate, what’s your fucking deal.

“It’s a good story.” I press it, turning to him with a tight grin. This is important to me, it’s me who lost my fingers and came to realization I was going on a heartless killing spree. I did some soul searching and now I’m here, a bloody inspirational story, _my story._ Don’t he get this?

“Lena, back off.” Lucio’s face changes suddenly, it’s darker, angry and stern. I flinch a bit, I don’t miss the hurt in his eyes but I can’t help the frustration and anger growing in my chest. He don’t care about me.

“Talkin’ about it helps.” I've been told these words time and time again. Angela always told me, mum, Mondatta, fuck, even Lucio has told me it. What I did don’t bother me too much anymore, it’s about time that Lucio moves on too.

“But now’s not the place. So just...stop.”

My chair scrapes loudly against the tile floor. Just want to punch is face in. Why is he being such a cock about this? I keep my eyes locked on Lucio, angry as I down the rest of my drink and slam it back on the table. Fine, if he wants to hold onto the past, he bloody can. Obviously it ain’t my place to talk about my traumatic experiences but it’s a fucking open mic for him.

“Well I might as well piss off then, yeah?” I swipe my palm on the console, paying for my drinks even though his ‘fans’ offered to cover them. Steadying myself on shaky feet and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I look back to Lucio. His face is a conflict of emotions, mine probably is too.

Have to get away, get some fresh air before we make it any worse.

“Gon’ hit up Zandra, my girlfriend. Yeah, at least she didn’t try to fucking kill me like your boyfriend did.” I don’t mean it, maybe I do. The look of horror spreading across his face is bloody satisfying. Gonna regret one day, but it feels so good right now.

I turn heel and leave the bustle of the bar for the chill of the night. It’s only a little past midnight, streets are sparsely populated with people; some stumbling a bit like me. I grip the straps of my pack, feeling the worn canvas in my tingling palms.

The judgment in his eyes. He though his lad was an angel, that I was the only one who did wrong. Guess it was all an act back at Gibraltar. He ain’t over it, thought he was. No. no. piss.

I need another drink fill in this pit in my gut. 

 

* * *

 

The grass at this playground feels different from the stuff in London. Actually, surprised that they’re able to grow grass in this place. But it’s the future and we are right next to the Nile.

Nile, sounds like a name. I like names.

Let's see, working on my third bottle, still got three left in the pack. Can’t remember where I tossed the empties, think I left one at a bus stop?

But the grass is nice on my back, my bag under my head as I stare at the swirling stars. They dance if I move my eyes back and forth fast enough. Rave party! Like that one we threw-

I frown.

Another drink from the bottle.

 

* * *

 

The hallway outside of her flat is nice and toasty. It got a bit too chilly outside and I couldn’t figure out the zipper on my duffle to fish out a jacket. My body feels too heavy, the floor looks too comfy.

The last two bottles in the carrier clink together, a chime, a wedding, a toast to better and happier days. To life, to love, to moving forward.

The bell rings from behind the door, still no answer and no lights. I think it’s 2am? Don’t she get out now, unless her schedule changed. Unless this ain’t her flat and I’m about to be the biggest wanker in Egypt. But there’s a British flag charm to click clacks onto the door when my head strikes the wood.

A bit of throbbing, nothing too bad, just feels like floating. Buzz, buzz is a nice word. Tickles my tongue.

A noise, what’s that? Scratching at the bottom of the door near my face. I can see something grey lit up by the light in the hallway.

“Meow.” something soft bats against my forehead.

Oooooooooooooo cat.

I try to grab the little paw before it can pull back, I only get a feel of its fur and nothing else. Scooching up, I try to get a better look.

“Here kitty. What was your bloody name again? Piss...uhhhh.”

The paw swipes out again, followed by another squeaky meow. Still not fast enough to catch the little bugger. I sit there, he pokes out again, too slow piss balls.

Come on!

Another paw reaches out, this one black and longer.

“Cleo!” She doesn’t pull away and I’m able to gently pinch her leg. With her claws, she gently pulls my hand back to the edge of the door where only two of my fingers fit underneath the gap. I can feel her purring as she rubs her face onto my hand.

My cheeks are sore from smiling, I’m nearly at tears. At least she remembers and is happy to see me again.

The grey one swipes out one more time, his claws digging deep into my wrist. I yank my hand back with a yelp, not expecting the twat to actually full on scratch me.

“Hey, you piss head. That ain’t nice, why can’t you be nice like Cleo over here.” I mumble out, staring at the bottom of the door. Neither of them answer and I am suddenly aware of how stupid I must look talking to a pair of cats through a door.

“Lena?”

Oh shite

Even my drunken self can’t over fail to recognize the voice that calls out from the end of the hall. I look up, vision suddenly sharp for the first second I lay my eyes on her.

Her long hair pulled back into a military bun, face a bit sharper. Her uniforms the exact same one I remember from the fruit shop, the deep navy blue looks so good on her. A brown leather case in her hand, a steaming cup of something in the other. Down to her perfectly shined dress shoes.

Little miss ‘How about a date?’ only because I can’t remember her name.

“Evening, love. Err, morning?”

My grin is lopsided, eyelids drooping. A sense of calmness overcomes me and sleep sounds so good right now. Can’t believe I was scared to see her again, beating myself up with what to say, how to act and what not. I should know better than to try planning things out.

I can’t find the words, hoping that she can understand the mumbles of my tongue cause I sure as hell can’t. Her face is as lovely as ever and yes, she still has a small scar on her neck.

I’m weightless and below me are the dazzling light of Cairo in the night. In her arms, in the clouds, in love soaring high above away from the troubles of the ground. The soft purr of the engines, the cool sheets of air against my face. A glass to my lips, cold water that I’m no longer afraid of choking on. The tangy bitterness of overhang.

No flashbacks, no visions, just her.

And her honey eyes to light up the dark. She’s crying, I’m crying, Shhhh, it’s alright love, I ain’t going anywhere, not when there’s a home here.

In her arms, in the softness of her bed (our bed?), down to our small clothes with the cats curled up at our feet. No names, don’t matter, names don’t mean anything. My love, my love, my love.

And her face so bright, lips to soft, body warm underneath the sheets. My fingers trail down before to takes them, kisses them, and places them on her hips. “You’re drunk” she says. I don’t see the point she’s trying to make.

I try again, and once more, a groan and a chuckle. More kisses but nothing more. She pulls me into a valley of soothing heat and a heartbeat that reminds me that we are here.

Here

“Sleep, _habibi_.”

I am here

Pure bliss

 

* * *

 

Warm sheets.

I jolt awake, it’s been a long time since I’ve woken up next to someone.

There’s a slight stirring at my feet, can’t see what it is but the memories of last night start to come back slowly.

The flight, Fareeha, the bar, Lucio, the cats, Zandra.

Our legs are tangled in each other, the sheets a bit twisted but they still serve their duty of keeping us warm in the morning air. My face is pressed into her collarbone and I take a deep breath in. Like the smell of a field moments before the rain; earthen and heavy with what’s to come. The slight tinge of ozone she probably picked up from work and the remnants of a perfume that curls into my nose like the curling of my lips.

It’s her, nothing outstandingly pleasant or not. Different, new, not sweetness of fruit, but all the same.

All I can ask for.

I pull my gaze up her neck, not spotting anything new. Her job must not be as dangerous as farm work and stacking of crates higher than me. To the underside of her jaw and the spilling of her hair across the pillow. I can’t see anything else beyond that, but I imagine it, her peaceful face and mouth slightly open because that’s how she sleeps.

The minutes tick by, lazily measured by the breaths that we take together. Tosh, if I were a poet, I’d write something about the way she smells like a good’s night rest. The sight that sends relief rumbling through my soul as if I just landed the plane safely on a stormy night.

Sounds wonderful in my head, probably will sound like rubbish off my tongue.

“I know you are awake, Lena.”

“What?”

We shift apart a bit so she can bring her face down to mine. It’s hesitant, a sober decision in which nerves are running wild. Her lips stop centimeters away from mine. My choice, always with her.

I kiss her with a smile and warmth in my chest.

“You are not very subtle when you are putting kisses on my collarbone.”

I puff my cheeks out with embarrassment. Knew she was a light sleeper but thought, well, don’t know, thought I could get away with it. Zandra chuckles, fingers teasing the back of my head.

A sigh is passed between the two of us; heavy, daunting. Wish we could just ignore the looming question. Maybe 5 more minutes.

“I’ve missed you.” She whispers and I find myself falling all over again.

 

* * *

 

“And so Sajeet tried to toss the wrapper into the trashcan but it ends up bouncing it off of the supervisor’s head. Her face, gods, her face.” The rest is lost beneath waves and waves of laughter.

I wipe my mouth of the dribble of tea that has escaped, watching as Zandra continues to chuckle into her fist. The mid-morning air is just beginning to warm, sunlight streaming through drawn back curtains.

Orange curtains.

Makes me smile every time I look at them

All of a sudden, a small grey blur darts from the hallways and leaps up onto the dining table, startling both me and Zandra. I almost punch it out of instinct before I notice its deep brown eyes. Zandra reaches over and picks it up, causing it to illicit a sharp and squeaky ‘meow’ that melts my heart.

“Take it that’s your new kitten?”

“Yes,” She stands up from her chair and brings the small ball of fur over. “Lena Oxton, meet Mouse.”

The kitten presses his head into my hand my moment I bring it close enough. Looks like he remembers me from last night. His ash grey fur is soft to the touch and in moments, I can feel the vibrations of him purring.

He struggles a bit out of Zandra’s grasp, leaping back onto the table and bounding into my lap where he proceeds to rub himself all over my stomach.

“How rude. At least he seems to like you.” Zandra chuckles, resting a hand on my shoulder.

Mouse feels like he weighs nothing as he shifts about before raising up and placing two paws onto my chest. He brings his face centimeters away from mine, stopping as if to study my face. Now that he’s up close, I really can see why Zandra named him Mouse.

Mouse

My throat tightens, a headache barreling hard and fast.

_A yellow-brown haze filled the space. My mouth goes dry as I watched the mouse’s actions become more panicked. Sores quickly formed on its body; angry and oozing. It slowed, gasping, collapsing to the floor._

It’s the past, why does it keep coming back? What good does it do, just in my head, am I that sick? Pills have helped all this time, why, why, why now?

_I can hear the body slam against the sides a few times before there is once again no mouse, just the same haze in the bin. It’s then I notice there isn’t any air holes or openings; fully sealed in its plastic prison. The video ends._

Is the universe trying to tell me something, am I being punished for what I let happen when I couldn’t stopped it. Is there even a reason, maybe it’s just pain to balance out the happy?

Mouse is gone by the time I come back to my senses. One blink, two, focus, breathe. Zandra’s hand is still on my shoulder, I am still in a chair and nothing has changed.

She doesn’t notice as turn my head, her eyes are watching Mouse as he darts back into the hallway her came from. Her smile, focus on her smile as she turns back to me. I return it to the best of my ability.

For a few moments, I can drown out everything and just zero in on the sight of her. The sun running it’s rays through her loose hair, all the edges just a bit softer, skin just a touch paler; evidence of the shift in her working conditions. That don’t mean she’s lost her killer shoulders though.

And then her smile drops with a soft sigh and I can tell what’s coming. We’ve been avoiding it ever since waking up with light banter and stories from her work. But it’s about time we face the music.

That don’t change the fact I still want to bolt out the door.

“So I take it you got my holodisk from Lucio.”

I nod. She moves to the couch, giving me a glance for me to follow. The both of us sink into the cushion I were once so familiar with. On opposite sides, backs on the armrests, legs nestled together. I struggle to look into her eyes, finding it easier to stare out the glass door behind her.

“Where does this put us, Lena?”

“Well, you found me piss drunk outside your flat, playing with your cats. You took me in, let me sleep next to you in your bed and we just made breakfast together. Reckon that makes us pretty bloody close, yeah?” I earn myself a chuckle but it doesn’t help undo the knot twisting in my gut.

“Funny, but really.” She strokes a hand up my calf with feathery pressure. It takes everything I have to not jerk my leg away from the tickling touch. I finally meet her eyes; sharp and unforgiving but scared, just like mine. “Are we friends, more than friends?”

I try to put on a face, think of what she wants to hear, but it’s not right. Need to think about myself or I’ll find myself in another hole I’ve dug. It’s only morning but I can feel the weariness creeping up on me. I hate being emotional, wish everything could just end up right.

“I don’t know love, I really don’t.”

But it’s never like that, we just got to work on it.

I lean forward, taking her hand in mine. The tips are softer but there are marks around her wrist. My eyes slide shut, I don’t know the story behind them but hopefully she didn’t have to go through what Fareeha did. I lightly brush over the raised ridges, she doesn’t say anything, just watches.

I’m sorry.

_I need to get away, protect her and protect myself. This shouldn’t go any further, everything that gets close-_

Murcat

_Just gets-_

Angela

_Taken-_

Fareeha

_Away…_

Lucio.

Focus, center

But can’t run away from this can I, face the music, Lena. We can make this work.

I shift and close the gap, pressing my lips onto hers. My choice, no need for her to wait for my reaction. Her hands come up, cupping the back of my head and the side of my jaw. It doesn’t go any further than a few kisses.

We part, eyes full of hope, throats full of fear, hearts restless in our chests.

“We’ll work on it together.”

Or at least we’ll try.

 

* * *

 

The flat is maddeningly quiet with her gone.

Hugged her goodbye when she left for work, wanted to kiss, maybe, but it’s all so confusing. We’ve been apart for a year and yeah I think I still love her but…

I let out another sigh, resigning to continue petting the two cats curled up on my stomach. Plenty things are on the telly at 2200, but nothing good enough to distract me for too long. Some comedy sketch on stupid politics, another skit already poking fun at the collapse of Overwatch.

Told Zandra about Lucio, not Murcat, just said we had a bit of a drunken disagreement. Really should’ve told her but I didn’t feel like going down another rabbithole. Bad enough that Lucio won’t answer my calls, maybe in a few days.

Wonder how the others are doing? Angela’s probably still out there helping people, Reinhardt, shite, tackling people? Let’s see, Jesse, hmm, didn’t know him too well, cowboy things? Pardenilla?

No, my squad was all killed in the Swiss base. Imagine if I wasn’t called to London, if that Widowmaker hadn’t shot me up. I would be dead with them all.

I frown, Widowmaker. A dull ache radiated from my missing fingers at the thought. This Amelie Lacroix, was she involved in Overwatch before Talon got her? Never saw her around the base, think I’d remember a face like that. Maybe she worked with Gerard and Angela on the bionic-what's-it. Thinking back, Amari and Morrison seemed gutted ‘round the time Reyes told me.

Amari’s a bloody good shot, could she have taught Amelie how to shoot?

Rubbish, don’t matter now, they’re all dead and I got no idea what or where this French woman is now.

Hours up and the program changes to some infomercial on...A light up cat leash?

“Like you two would agree to walks ya pair of skives.” I grin, poking Cleo on the cheek. Her eyes crack open for a moment before she stretches out her paws and re-burrows herself into my shirt.  Mouse doesn’t even react to my prodding finger.

My eyes drift to the ceiling after shutting off the telly, nothing but the sound of the streets outside and our quiet breathing. Reckon I could be used to this; this domestic life. What, go to some desk job, maybe work at the fruit stand, come home, cook with Zandra, and spend the weekends with her some days lazy, some nights sleepless.

I break out into a sly grin, dirty mind, shouldn’t be thinking ‘bout it, but I still fancy her. Yeah, perhaps.

It’s been a day, I check my phone again to see if Lucio had returned any of my messages or calls. Nothing, bit of a disappointment, but maybe the lad needs space, it’s not like I’m not trying to fix this.

Stop stop, stop thinking ‘bout it.

The couch is so cozy and I’m not about to tussle with getting two cats off of me. My meds are in my duffle, should go and take them, but they’re so far away. Maybe just tonight, take them in the morning, done that before and it didn’t hurt me too bad.

Well, Mongolia and piss, that didn’t turn out too well.

But sleep has somehow crept up on me so quickly, limbs heavy, eyes tired. My head is nodding back and back, sinking into the couch. And the tiny beating hearts that echo into my body, Mouse’s fur soft in my hand. The smell of cumin lingering from dinner.

Life is good.

 

* * *

 

Shifting

Down, up, to the side, weightless.

Not again.

I struggle, like trying to move underwater, kick and scream to break the surface-

“Shhhh, it’s me Lena. It’s Zandra, I am just carrying you to bed.”

Something warm presses against my forehead. A familiar voice, one that brings forth visions of rotten fruit and glowing red eyes. But it soothes me nonetheless, I recognize her name; Zandra Salam.

“How about a date.”

I murmur into a soft cotton surface, something firm is underneath it. A chuckle sounds from next to my face and soon I am deposited onto a mattress that sinks under the weight of both of us. She pulls the covers over but there’s something gnawing away at me, something I got to tell her.

“Wait.” She instantly stills, bringing her face close to mine to she can hear my half-formed words. “My pills, plastic bag in my duffle.”

Feel a bit embarrassed, but she’s known I take meds. A pill at night to keep the dreams tame, for the most part, some in the morning to help the tough days. A special few I keep on hand for emergencies. Haven’t had to use ‘em yet, hopefully never will.

Hands help me sit up and she turns on the ceiling light to a dim setting, just enough for me to find which bottle to open. Wonder where I’ll get my refills now, Overwatch paid for them and Angela prescribed them, but she’s an actual doc so I guess any pharmacy would take the order.

The pill goes down smooth, followed by a few gulps of water.

Guess it's a thought for the morning, the bed’s looking mighty fine right now. Zandra gingerly takes the bag of bottles and sets it on the night stand, shutting off the light and crawling back under the covers. I snuggle up against her body, heat radiating off of her in waves.

How does such a furnace of a person survive in Egypt?

“How was your day?” I’m a bit more awake now, enough to see the small smile on her lips.

“It was good, remind me later to tell you what Sajeet did tonight, I’m surprised the man has not been fired yet.” She replies with a giggle, pulling me into closer.

It’s a bit too hot for my liking, it was always cold in London, but I know Zandra likes to hold things, likes to cuddle. I love it too, just wish the air was a bit cooler, maybe one day we’ll go to Ol’ Blighty and she can meet my pops. Her arms are enough, her chest, the scent of her and the sound of her breathing.

“I’ll try to remember.”

“No promises?”

I smile.

“No promises.”

 

* * *

 

When we wake up, I notice that she’s wearing the shirt I stole from her a year ago and I forget what I was trying to remember.

 

* * *

 

The days pass, I help around the flat; feeding the cats, cleaning the place, grocery shopping. After a week, I’ve taught Mouse to bring a napkin over on command, a trick I am very proud to show off to Zandra.

Of course the little bugger won’t do it with her in the room. I record it on my phone as proof and she jokes about Mouse having a bit of stage fright. Yeah right, bloody wanker just wants to make me look bad.

It’s about noon and Zandra is still asleep in bed. I got a bit restless, decided to do our laundry and fold them in the living room. Between swatting the cats away and laughing at the old Charlie Chaplin vid I’m watching, I nearly scream in horror when I get to one of my beloved sweater vests. Haven’t worn it in Egypt, too bloody hot for it, but Cleo thought it would be fun to puke up her dinner on my clothes. So into the wash it went without a second thought.

Except I forget to check the care label and now one of my favorite argyle vests has shrunken down to a kids size.

“Bloody hell, mate.” I murmur to myself, turning the offending piece of fabric in my hands. Thing’s so dinky, I’m surprised that something could shrink so many sizes. Then again, it wasn’t all that big to begin with, even feeling a bit tight on me.

“Well, what do I do with you now?”

Cleo leaps up onto the couch, eyeing the warm pile of clean clothes waiting to be folded. I’m about to shoo her away when I look from the sweater vest to her, then back to the vest. She is clueless as I lean over and scoop her into my lap.

“Now don’t fuss too much and I’ll reward ya.”

 

* * *

 

I’m covered in scratches but grinning like an idiot when Zandra steps out of the bathroom. Her mouth opens to ask the obvious when she sees Cleo lying stock still on her side.

“Hey Zandra, check it out.” I pick the cat up, her body rigid but she makes no verbal protest. “It’s like an off button.”

Setting her on her feet, I try to balance her before letting go but Cleo makes no move to catch herself as she flops back down onto her side. Zandra lets out a snort of laughter as I repeat the action, every time Cleo just keeps as limp as possible and collapses back down to the floor whenever I try to stand her up.

“Come here, is Lena being a big meanie to you Cleo?” Zandra bends over and tries to stand Cleo onto her feet with the same result; a limp sack of meat in the shape of a cat. She lets out a sigh as I break out into laughter.

“It’s no use, Zandra, looks like Cleo hates sweaters.”

“Well, it is a good thing she has no use for them here.”

We finally release Cleo from her knitted prison after all the clothes are folded and put away. I’ll keep this in mind the next time I do laundry, easier than swatting her away every 5 minutes.

 

* * *

 

“I saw Lucio at the market today.”

My heart leaps along with a bitterness that floods my mouth. It’s been 3 weeks since I last saw the lad, called every other day, leaving him a message to hang or talk or whatever. Started to think that maybe he was dead in a ditch somewhere, kept an eye on the obituaries in case he was. Worried sick, he might be mad at me for whatever reason but that don’t mean I’ve stopped caring about him.

“Yeah, how was it?” I can’t help the bitterness from seeping into my voice. Shouldn’t be mad, I know, but…but it still hurts.

“I was nice, he spotted me at the butcher and he nearly tripped over a goat skating towards me. We talked for a while, he’s doing well, staying with a couple friends. He told me to tell you not to worry, that he’s still working it out.” Zandra takes my hand, forcing me to release the wooden spoon I’ve been clenching. Fingers smooth over my trembling ones.

“He’s not mad at you, Lena, he just needs some more time. I do not know what happened between you two, but he knows you’re trying and so is he.”

She kisses my cheek, her words bringing me some semblance of comfort. It’ll pass, time is all that’s needed. But he hasn’t told Zandra about Murcat, so I guess it’s a thing we’ll reveal when we’re both ready.

I look down at our intertwined hands, my two prosthetic fingers against her dark skin. She hasn’t asked me about them, we know better than to prod too hard. Another secret to keep.

 

* * *

 

I leaf through the hiring ads, none of them catching my attention. It’s not like I really need to work, Zandra makes enough creds to support a four person family if she wanted to. Though the month has been a relaxing one, I’m going bloody stir crazy.

Mail Courier

Been there, done that, would rather not do it ever again.

Tried helping out at the Salam farm and fruit stand, got sunburned the first hour in the fields. I’m too short to be of much help at the shop, they said that they love the company but really, other than for laughs, I can’t do much.

Music instructor

Hmm, not a bad thought, if I practice the flute enough, maybe I could stand to teach a few kiddos how to play.

“Still looking?”

I turn my head away from the holopad to see Zandra coming out from the hallway in a tank-top, arms up in the process of tying her hair into a ponytail. My tongue loses the ability to move, the sun highlights her flexing shoulders just right. I remember how that muscles felt under my hands, how unrelenting they were pinning me to the bed, the wall, the table…

“Lena, you’re staring.” She teases, crouching over my position of laying on the couch. I grin back up at her, pulling her down for a kiss.

They come easier, our first one since the little talk was after a rough day at work for her. Programs going haywire, scripts not working, general frustration that she carried all the way home. Gave her a massage that night, didn’t plan on going any further as we were still tiptoeing around our ‘relationship’. But it sort of just happened, leaned together, kissed, and slept in each other’s arms. Felt natural, muscle memory.

Just that. Learning to love again.

“Can’t help it when you’re so beautiful.”

“Honey tongue.”

“Mmm, I try.” Another kiss, my heart flutters still. “But no luck, reckon I could be a music teacher, I picked up the flute during my stint in London.”

A tense silence settles over at the subject. It actually surprises me how little I’ve told Zandra of my work in Overwatch. Then again, I barely know anything about her work at Heka International. We like to keep it that way, got some big wigs out there trying to keep our mouths shut.

The breath passes, we’re getting used to

“Sounds fun,” She says with a smile, scrolling through the list displayed on the holopad. Her finger stops at one, her eyes lighting up. “How about this one, ‘Pilot for aerial tours of Cairo.’”

“Now that sounds great, but don’t think they’ll let me fly one of their planes with my anchor.” I did see that ad a while back, was about to apply when I remembered the blasted thing embedded in my chest and back. I haven’t worn my harness since touching down in Egypt, really never had a need plus the thing is so uncomfortable in the heat.

“No, but I still have the Dragonfly, considering who you are, maybe they’ll have you in a specialty.” With a hand, she gently pushes the pad to my chest, reaching out with her palm as if reading a billboard. “Imagine, ‘For a limited time, fly with famous pilot Tracer from Overwatch.”

It’s a ridiculous thought but it doesn’t fail to coax a chuckle out from me. Does sound nice to fly again, also to think that Zandra kept the plane after all this time. What if I never came back, or died, would she still have…

Now’s not the time.

The room is silent, she stares into my eyes before dropping to my chest. Underneath the fabric of my shirt drums the thing that has saved me, sometimes tried to kill me, but its drumming is what keeps me alive. Her hand skirts around its rim through my shirt. The pressure is ever so slight, like scratching a tooth.

“Sounds dangerous, I’ve got plenty of people who want me dead y’know.”

It’s a joke, she knows, the air gets a little bit heavier, her lips press a little tighter. I may not be in Overwatch anymore but somewhere out there, there’s probably a bounty on my head.

“Please, you love danger, Lena. Besides, there’s an eject button for reason.” Zandra murmurs quietly with a half-smile. I catch her circling hand and press a kiss to it.

It’s a real possibility, to fly again, get paid while doing it. Completely carefree, no need to dodge bullets or look for hostiles; just pointing out landmarks and doing a couple tricks to impress whatever deep pockets decide to fly with me. Maybe some charity work, take some sick kids out to see the sky.

She kisses me and unwinds her fingers from mine before walking to the kitchen. 

Tosh, look at me getting carried away. I look back at the ad, a bit of sinking feeling settles deep into my bones.

 

* * *

 

Another morning/afternoon, spending a good ten minutes just watching Zandra sleep next to me.

Interviews, inspections, demonstrations, all with her by my side. They’re on board alright, two big names like us plus Zandra’s very convincing bullet points. 

Wake up, shower, toothbrush

Still no word from Lucio. I’ve stopped calling him after what Zandra told me. If the lad needs space then he’ll get it. I want to be mad at him, guess some part of me is, bit a of piss baby. But I did kill his boyfriend, I did...I can’t let him make me live in the past again.

Get dressed, cup of tea, pet the cats

Taking Zandra out in the plane today, or more like she is, she’s gonna give me a little tour of her own around Cairo. Won’t tell me what she has in mind, says she knows the skies here well enough to give me directions.

Pills, mirror, smile Lena

It’s so easy, will it stay this easy forever? Will we get married like I had dreamed of so long ago?

Another day, can’t complain when it’s with her.

Heh, us married...It’s a thought yeah?

 

* * *

 

Scared, no, frightened….no, just a little bit antisy.

The takeoff was smooth, skies are clear, the city below and the woman I love flying high with me.

“The black building over there; that’s a “Meowseum of Cats”. It is actually really nice inside despite its ridiculous name. Cannot imagine what their air conditioning costs are though.”

Though I would lose it, been fidgety and all. It’s different flying with an inspector, following their directions, making sure I still know all the ins and outs of flying. But with her, been extra careful, checked all my meters twice. I just. I really don’t want anything to happen to Zandra, she deserves the world and I hope I can deliver.

She has her hand on my shoulder, been there since we strapped into the plane. It’s like she knows what I’m thinking, every time I feel the slightest pull, it’s her hand that keeps me anchored. Reminding me that it’s a city below full of people and lives and love; not an ocean. No endless cold, choking water that’s filling my lungs and snuffing out my cries for help. Pouring through a shattered windshield, down, down, cold so cold.

Breathe. Steady. I am here.

I don’t see her face, but I can sense it, beneath the anonymity of the helmet and the oxygen mask, smiling, eyes blazing as bright as the midmorning sun. 

“-I used to chase my brothers around with a stick, throwing imaginary fireballs and spells.”

It’s coming, I can feel it, it has gotten easier to prepare for. Starts with a prickle in the fingers that spread up, morphing into needles then sometimes searing heat. My hands tighten around the handles and I hit the autopilot, it’s happened during my test flights, never gotten worse than a tingle but better safe than sorry.

Zandra notices it and squeezes my tensing shoulder. She keeps talking, I can feel her watching me, worried, a river bank where they skip stones. A market place that holds traditional dancing every Friday night. City hall-

And like a slingshot, hurtling back, water in my lungs, and a room, walls, concrete but not rubble. No ozone, it’s not me, it’s Zandra huddled in the corner sobbing to herself. There’s pounding and yelling, ‘let us in’, begging, cursing, screaming, ‘let me out’, then silence.

A warning

But it does pass as it all fades away and I feel my back against the chair, her hand my shoulder. She’s still talking, softly, with every breath I come back. Here. I shut off the autopilot, glance at the clock, 7 seconds, felt like a lifetime.

It’s been happening so much, we’ve tried therapist after therapist but none of them feel right; none of them are as good as Angela. But I can’t buzz her, don’t even know where she is at this point.

The only way I know she knows I’ve had an episode is the stroking of her thumb, she only does it when she’s worried.

We’re working on it, we’ll get there one day.


	17. Falling (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peak before the drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, yeah, this is like the 4 fourth smut i have written in such a short amount of time. Shout out to Sapphixxx for beta reading, love ya! :D

It starts with a hungry look that takes me by surprise.

Saturday morning, my eyes crack up to the face of Zandra staring at me Her pupils are wide, her breaths coming out as short pants whistling through her parted lips. She’s flustered and it’s quite adorable, but why? And why are my knickers-

My face heats up, a throbbing down below becoming very _very_ apparent. Bloody hell, I just had a wet dream didn’t I?

“Mornin’ love.” I try to play it off, maybe she don’t notice me shifting to press my thighs together but her hands begin to wander down to my waist.

“Good morning. What did you dream of last night, _Habibi?_ ”

I smile slyly, obviously the game is already up. It might sound like an innocent question, but I feel her thumbs hooking into the waistband of my shorts. Mmmm I can definitely get behind a shag right now. Back to her question, I think about it, think about it real hard. But it’s all fuzzy as usual cause of the meds.

“Can’t say I remember. Sorry if I kept you up.” I kiss an apology to the underside of her jaw, nuzzling into her delicious warmth. She’s heating up, I am too playing a bit coy with her, it’s always fun to egg her on.

She pulls me closer, not by the waist, but with both hands palming my ass. I let out a quiet sigh at the sudden possessive touch. My body fits flush against hers, her mouth next to my ear.

“You kept me up, alright.” Zandra whispers deep and throaty, hot breath making my shiver. “You were moaning in your sleep, Lena.”

Oh... _oh…._ Shame that I don't remember it then.

It’s not like we haven’t talked about it, casual banter on new tastes, things we’d like to try. We let it stew for a month, tried a couple times but the timing never lined up. A look, a smirk, we’d start necking then Mouse comes and pukes on the sheets, or we’d break apart with flustered apologies and darting eyes. We take our time, respecting each other’s vague explanations of “just not now.”

Words we both use, perhaps one day we’ll explain what it means to each other.

This time though, it’s there when I pull back to look into her eyes; the nameless hunger that ripples deep in me with every caress of her fingers. I grin wickedly at the stutter in her breath when I drag my nails up her leg.

“Care to jog my memory, love?”

Chuckling all the way, Zandra throws a leg over me, easing herself down to straddle my waist. Soft fingertips slip between my shirt and skin that’s begging to be touched. Her entire palm sliding up and up before cupping my breasts and squeezing.

I moan behind tightly closed lips, don’t wanna give too much satisfaction just yet, she’s already got that smug smirk going. She bends over to bring her face up to mine, dark hair splashing down. Slightly nappy, but it's her, beautiful, and I love every part of her.

“I’ll do more than that, Lena. Let’s see.” Zandra keeps her eyes locked on mine and my lungs trip on the sheer _want_ clouding them. “You kept tilting your head back.”

And so I do, the moment my throat is exposed there are lips descending down. They press and suck soft little kisses that make me writhe and sigh. I rest my hands on her hips, tucking them into the waistband of her underwear.

“Think I’m starting to remember.” I close my eyes, imagining, getting drawn back into murky depths. “It was cold, lots of voices below us, a party I think.”

Blunt teeth sink in with a throaty chuckle that tickles my skin.

“Hmm, sex in public. How naughty, _habibi._ ” She moves lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses, to the base of my throat where my breath rasps between her lips. “What next?”

It’s getting hard not to get lost in the buzz filling my mind. Feels good, real good, an ache in both my heart and between my legs. Makes me miss it so much, almost want to just tell her to get on with it. But there’s a thrill in having her reenact my dream.

“You had me on a table, doin’ what you’re doing now. Then your hand left my breast and went lower.” I bite my lip in embarrassment, tosh if anyone were listening in. I’m not the best at this dirty talk.

“To here?” Zandra says cheekily, her hand toying with my bellybutton. I glare at her with a slight huff of annoyance, she bloody knows where I’m talking about. “You must tell me where, Lena.”

Nails scrape the skin right above my shorts. I screw my eyes shut, electricity coursing through me. She’s toying with me and I fucking love it.

“Lower.” I groan. The hand slides lower, pushing past my trimmed hairs to the edge of my clit. And then passing and cupping my entire sex. The heel of her hand kneads forward, barely there, not where I need her. “Fuck, Zandra, just touch me.”

I crack my eyes open to her smirking face. She looks mighty pleased with herself seeing me like this. The other hand glides up to my neck, her thumb pushing in ever so slightly. I breathe heavier and dig my fingers into her hips. As much as I try to get her to move, she’s still stronger, still in control, still driving me fucking mad.

“Tell me what you want.” For a second, for one stroke, her middle finger dips in and brushes against my clit. My entire body snaps tight in response. Can’t buck up with her sitting on my legs, can only moan against her hand at my throat and the flush of embarrassment in my cheeks.

“Your fingers,” I gasp out, they twitch down, hover right there but not touching. “Two inside of me-!”

Even though I brace myself for it, the rest of my words are lost in a high whine as she does just that. Not one at a time but both delve in shamefully easily and just sit there, waiting for the next command.

“Keep going.”

Can’t draw enough air for words with her teasing me like this.

“You were pumping in and out,” Her fingers begin to move and my tongue stops responding. I force it to obey. “You had my arms pinned above my head.”

Gently, she takes my wrists with her other hand still working and secures them onto the mattress above me. The position has her face centimeters away from mine, all I can see is her face; the brightness in her honey eyes, the light blush on her cheeks, slightly parted lips curled in a small smile. I try to reach up for a kiss but she pulls away and dodges to the side, pressing more open kisses onto my neck. What a bloody tease!

“And next?”

The memory comes back hard and fast as if finally breaking past a wall and flooding into my mind. I see the ink of the room, the smell of smoke and alcohol, a pub maybe, and the creaking of the table beneath me.

“You added another finger a-and your thumb was rubbing my clit.” She keeps watching me. I want to tear away, screw my eyes shut from the scrutiny but in a twisted way, the humiliation makes the lust in my gut burn hotter. Falling, falling apart because of her. “Fuck, Zandra.”

She hums against my throat, three fingers now in my snatch, a stretch that reminds me of our first time. In a sense, this is our first time: a year apart. It’s been too long.

“Kiss me.” I whine desperately, a pit opening up in my chest. Tosh, I’m getting emotional again.

Need more, I need her pressed against me, to feel her breaths and heart and everything. Floating again, please, love, keep me anchored, grounded. Keep me here.

I nearly sob with relief when she comes up and seals my lips with hers. It’s hurried, hungry, and _hurting._ My heart aches so badly.

“I’ve got you.” She whispers against my mouth, don’t know that I’m crying until she’s kissing the tears away.

“Zandra, I love you, love you so much.” Is that my voice? It’s muddled and broken between shaky pants. Like it’s begging for something, trying to convince someone. “Fuck, love, I’m so close.”

The darkness fades before pulsing back, her face, no, not hers. For a moment in the darkness is another face that I recognize and it makes my blood run cold but I’m in too deep to stop. I tumble over the edge crying out Zandra’s name. I smell her, hear her, _feel her_ and me trying to hold on everything that she is.

But for a second, I see piercing yellow eyes and a playful smirk.

_Widowmaker_

“Are you okay, _Habibi?_ ” I touch back down, feeling as if coming back from another vision but without the pulling. My heart is beating against the bars of its cage, my tongue feels too large for my mouth. Panic and regret and shame, all of it wallowing in my gut.

Her thumb rubs slow circles into my hip.

She knows. At least she thinks she knows what just happened. But she doesn’t realize the extent of it. My chest lacks the disgust I expect to feel thinking about the woman who has come close to killing me so many times. Instead, there is a tugging, a sort of familiarity as if it’s been too long since…

It wasn’t Zandra I dreamed about last night; it’s all clear now. Same scenario, not with her…but with Widowmaker. Think I’m gonna be sick. It’s vision, a dream, that’s all. We just need to find the right doctor, find the right thing to fix all of this. Or maybe there is no hope for me and Angela just did her best to delay the inevitable.

_The shame doesn’t budge, a burden even though they tell me I’m not. A broken person, no hero, lost. Just lost._

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” I whisper finally, pulling her to lay on me but her body is stiff and worry still fills her eyes. “You were brilliant, love.”

“Tears of joy?” Zandra says hesitantly, a joke, yes. Jokes are good, it makes me chuckle, a smile. A face. I’ll make myself believe it’s so.

“Yeah”

_I’m spiraling down, I know it, I know that I need to keep fighting._

I run my hand down her thigh, my fingers still trembling. Pay it back, show her that I’m alright, nothing to worry about, love. She catches it, brings it up to her lips for a kiss. Another on my two prosthetic fingers that rings a painful throb in my chest as I am reminded of my betrayal.

“Rest, we have all day.” Zandra murmurs lovingly, bringing my hand to rest on her waist. We just woke up but my eyelids feel so heavy, everything feels so heavy.

Surrounded by her, the love of my life.

But I wish I left my dream well enough alone.

_Please let it stay like this, not forever, I know, but for just a bit longer._

 


	18. Knock (Tad bit of necking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such a bloody long chapter, ho my god fuck. Also, the biggest of shot outs to Sapphixxx for beta-ing, been a big help keeping all this shite consistent. But I reread and re worked this chapter more than any other, I wanted this to be a good as possible and i hope it comes across as that. 
> 
> In any case, I listened to the soundtrack of "Next to Normal" for a lot of the reworking and for some reason it felt really relevant. But for those who read these, you probably care a lot more about plot so know that i put a lot of foreshadowing in. Like, i think it might feel a bit blatant at times, but it's there. i'm trying to make character development there and mystery and all that jazz.
> 
> But yes, please, enjoy mates.

“Oi Liara, what’s my flight schedule lookin’ like?” I set the holopad onto the counter, rummaging through the cupboard and pouring a packet of that Mongolian drink into an empty mug. The tech chimes once it finishes ‘thinking’ about my question.

“You are fully booked, Lena Oxton. Your first tour is tomorrow, Monday at 1315 with-”

I stop listening to the names, been almost two months of back to back tours since I keep taking all of them. It’s great, usually just two to three every day, I’m popular but according to the company, I ain’t cheap. Most of the folks are nice, got some arse biscuits that just wave their wallets around, but it ain’t all bad. With a cup of hot tea in hand, I scroll through the list as the brilliant little V.I. continues to drone on.

Mr. Hall is back again, real hoot, old geezer but he always eggs me to do the fanciest tricks. Let’s see, Sajeet? I wonder if he’s the daft one Zandra keeps going on about, or maybe it’s her brother, right confusing that the got the same name. My finger stops swiping and I hurry to scroll back up at a familiar face that makes me break out into a grin.

Well, bollocks.

Wednesday evening, last flight at 1600; Amari, Fareeha.

Looks like she found me, buzzed me for a chat just when I started poking at this job. Probably wanted to surprise me, what a bloody dork.

* * *

 

Blasted sun making it too bloody hot, feels like I’m melting in my flight suit.

Halfway through my 30 minute break between tours and the metal door swings open. Not the usual hesitant easing most new patrons do, but a confident swing and the clicking of dress shoes. I look up from my holo and nearly drop it.

“Greetings.” I do a double take, thinking that it’s Zandra walking in. But after a few blinks, I realize it’s none other than one Fareeha Amari.

Sometimes I forget how alike they look; broad shoulders, strong jaws, ‘cept Fareeha has a bit more muscle on her now that Zandra’s got a cushy desk job. That button up looks brilliant on her and I can’t help it when my eyes wander along her arms, a girl can look, yeah?

Bollocks, don’t get lost, smile back.

“Hey, course you’re early.” setting down the holopad, we meet halfway between the door and the bench I was sitting on. Her eyes lock onto mine; intense, sharp, I know she’s a tense woman but this feels like a bit much.

“I am not intruding, am I?” In a flash, the intensity melts away to a sort of awkward humor with crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She’s smiling, holy bloody hell, she’s smiling a full blown smile that I’ve never seen her do without alcohol or a crummy pun. This is weird, maybe she’s just having a good day, good news, maybe a good bowel movement?

Then why did she look so lost in thought when she first walked in?

“Nah, you’re fine, love.” She comes right up to me, is she standing a bit closer than she usually does? Then again, can’t say I’ve really interacted with Fareeha all too much. “You wanna check out my wings?”

Fareeha nods and I lead her on.

“I recall reading on the website that Zandra Salam modified your plane to allow you to fly it.”

I’m not surprised that Fareeha did her homework, though most people don’t mention the plane bit, usually asking about my days in Overwatch. Some asking a bit too much. Wouldn’t Fareeha know about Zandra, her mother dedicated a speech to her, after all.

“Yeah, she’s brilliant.” My lips pull back into a fond smile, the thought of her warms me up. Real humbled by it all, she’s done so much for me. Wonder if I’ll ever be able to do something for her.

We circle around the Dragonfly to the little staircase leading up to the cockpit and the equipment cart next to it. Fareeha climbs up first, not hopping in, she just peeks over the edge and at the controls. I go ahead and strap myself back into a chute. Reckon she don’t need a walkthrough on how to put one on.

“How have you been, Lena?” She leaps back down, thumbing through the rack before selecting one of the larger packs.

“Been grand, love. I get to fly again and get paid for it, wicked deal if you ask me.”

“I am happy to hear that.” For a second, her eyebrows hop up as if remembering something. Fareeha reaches into her back pocket, it’s a blank faced envelope that she hands me. “Lucio approached me a few days ago and told me to give this to you.”

My back stiffens at the mention of his name. Fighting through the urge to scowl, I force a smile and stuff the paper into the pocket of my jacket.

“Thanks, love.” I try my best to sound cheery. She seems to buy it with a nod and hands going back to buckling the straps of her parachute.

The metal railing of the stairs feels cold to my heated palms, the familiar feeling of anger bubbling up into my throat. He’s a bloody twat, ignores me for three months then sends me a note through Fareeha of all people. Couldn’t just buzz me or stop by and drop it off at the flat? Is that why Fareeha booked this flight, just as a favor for the lad? She don’t care about me, just like he don’t. And he called me unstable when he plays these fucking games. Bollocks, why the fuck am I trying so hard-

“Are you alright?”

I snap back, realizing I’ve already strapped myself into the pilot seat with my hands clenched tight around the controls. A glance into the video feed of the seat behind me shows Fareeha buckled into her seat as well. Can’t see her face with the helm on but her oxygen mask isn’t strapped in yet. Her lips are pressed thin.

She’s worried about me, she cares and I have to remember that. It’s all irrational thoughts. Breathe, push it aside. He has his reasons, yeah? Haven’t even read what he wrote to me yet.

I have to...I need to…

It’s killing me, I either need to move on or get closure.

I don’t answer her, just sniffle and blink back the hot pricking at the corners of my eyes. If Fareeha’s uncomfortable, she doesn’t say anything and our takeoff is silent apart from the usual runway script I have to recite.

She respects my privacy, I appreciate that.

Once we’re in the air, I see her strap her oxygen mask into place before staring out the sides of the windshield. I lose myself to the hum of the engine and the sound of the wind outside.

“Can you take us by the Cairo Tower?”

“Sure can do, love.” I grin, knowing that she can’t see it, but the act of smiling itself is like a pulling on a little thread that perks up my mood. Quite used to locals telling me where they want to go since they know the best spots. Though, Cairo Tower is one of the less requested landmarks.

Within minutes, the building comes into view; intimidating when seen on the ground. But it steals my breath away to fly up to it. There’s spots in its basket weave walls that are re-enforced with metal but for the most part, it looks to have stood against the trials of time for the most part. Sorta reminds me of Ben back home.

“My mother used to bring me here as a child.” I glance back, catching her with a hand on the windshield before it pulls away. Fareeha sounds so sad, so small like that day in the cellar.

A flash of light, in my mind I see her smiling, a few tears, an opened letter in her hands.

Pointless vision, nothing more.

Ana’s dead, Fareeha’s probably still grieving.

“We can talk about it if you’d like.” An open door, no pressure, just like the docs always say. Mondatta taught me that everyone has their own story. “It helps to talk about, yeah.”

Fareeha stays quiet as we draw closer to the looming tower. She’s not the sharing type, holding everything inside of her until the pressure is too much. Some people need a little push, maybe Fareeha’s one of them types. “I’ve been there, love, it’s not fun. Mondatta was there for me, let me be here for you.”

Pay it forward, feels good to help others.

“When I was a child, I used to love birds. I would tear up my morning _baladi_ to feed to the ducks on my way to school.” She pauses with a chuckle. “My mother scolded me when she found out.”

Instead of sobering up, Fareeha just keeps laughing softly to herself. Makes my heart ache, the laugh is a bit hollow, but there’s a hint of something in it. Hope, maybe?

“It was not that I was throwing away half my breakfast, she scolded me for feeding the ducks bread. Mum told me I was killing the poor birds.”

We curl around the tower, wings nearly perpendicular with the ground. Twirling round and round ‘til we clear the top and shoot out into the open sky.

“The next morning, she collected the vegetable scraps from the night before and we fed the ducks together.”

I gently level the plane out. We’re far above the city with everything melting away into a patchwork quilt of buildings and farms. It’s like the universe aligns; there’s a flock of ducks flying below us.

With a flick of the wrist, we bank right and drop down so we’re just underneath them off to the side. I look up, flipping the controls to autopilot as we both take in the view. Warm, late noon sun shining down across the colored backs of the ducks.

I’m a sap, I know.

She doesn’t say anything, her eyes stay locked on the birds above us. They begin to drop down, heading for the river that’s now below us.

“How ‘bout we fly along the Nile?” I think she’s smiling. Fareeha’s hand comes up and worms into the space between the eye shield and the oxygen mask.

She’s crying.

“I would like that.”

* * *

 

“-I was so scared seeing the officer arrest Harum that I set the two beers onto the ground and walked up to the fence.” Fareeha pretends to crouch over before shuffling to face the body of the plane with her hands behind her back.

I can barely breathe with the fit of giggles boiling over in my throat. Just imagine, 14-year old Fareeha getting busted for carrying two beers before she could even get the chance to drink them. Poor sod. We start taking our gear off as she continues to recount the tale.

Real surprised at the shenanigans the woman used to get herself into as a kid. From terrible grades to picking fights with bullies; absolutely not the self-disciplined woman that stands before me. She’s a bloody dork once she gets comfy.

Comfy...think she’s comfy ‘round me now. That’s something.

The laughter dies down but our smiles don’t. Still feeling like I’m flying high after our tour. It felt...amazing swapping stories about our parents with her in the air. Sounds like she really misses her mum.

We’re standing face to face to each other, Fareeha’s eyes looking down at mine so warmly. Looks like she hasn’t felt this relaxed in a while. Life moves on and she’s learning to move on.

“Thank you, Lena.” She steps over to me and I can feel my heart picking up.

Awww, it’s turning my insides to mush seeing her all bloody emotional like this. Feels like the grandest moment of my life when her arms wrap around me and pull me into an embrace. Fareeha “Pharah” Amari, the soldier who sometimes has a stick up her arse, is fucking initiating a _hug._

It’s sweet, it’s...it’s brilliant.

Heat tickles the backs of my eyes, now she’s got me all emotional; a balloon expanding in my chest that makes me feel too light, floating but in a good way. It’s something I’ve sorely missed; why I joined Overwatch in the first place.

I made a difference in someone’s life today

_We do good work, fight the good fight_

“Thank you for everything, _habibti.”_

A sharp spike of panic impales my chest; _habibti?_ Sounds a whole lot like what Zandra calls me. Is it a general term of fondness, something more? No, no, Fareeha’s ain’t like that, if she, I don’t know, _liked_ someone, she’d be straight forward with it yeah? But she’s also isn’t the type to use random terms of affections with friends.

But what do I know, might not have talked to her much in the past, but we did just went through emotional hell with each other.

It’s not until I feel Fareeha’s head jerk up do I notice the sound of footsteps echoing through the hanger. That, and the sound of my heart drumming in my ears.

“Ms. Salam.”

Well bloody fuck, just the person to walk in on us, shouldn’t matter though. I’m reading too far into this, aren’t I? Maybe it was just a friendly hug, maybe Zandra won’t even care about that. I haven’t done nothing wrong, so why do I feel so flustered.

We break apart and I twirl around to see Zandra standing there in her usual casual dress. ‘Cept her eyes are narrow and glaring towards Fareeha and bloody hell, the bird’s hot when she’s angry. She stalks right up next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist, giving Fareeha barely enough time to fully pull away.

“Hello, _habibi.”_ Zandra tilts my face up for a kiss that’s hurried and dominating. Don’t quite know how I feel about the situation, a bit uncomfortable, yes. She isn’t one to stray from public affection but this seems a little pointed.

There’s a ferocity in her eyes when she pulls back. She leaves her hand resting on my hip.

“You seem to know my name but I am not aware of yours.” I can almost feel Zandra bristling up when she talks to Fareeha. Fareeha’s eyebrows draw down for a moment before the usual impassive military face sets back in. She extends a hand out towards Zandra.

“Lieutenant Pharah of Helix Securities. I patrol your facility regularly.”

There she goes again with using her damned codename. She’s not in uniform right now, she’s not the person she is when on the field. It’s dangerous to think like that, lose yourself to the things you do to protect people.

Feels like a lesson I’ve learned somewhere…

“Pharah,” Zandra says with a touch of recognition. “I’ve seen your photo, I did not recognize you without your helmet.”

The entire interaction is stiff and awkward as hell. They stare at each other, is this an Egyptian thing, a military thing? Fareeha is not the best with strangers either, so that’s probably not helping.

“I should take my leave.” Fareeha looks back at me with a soft smile. “Again, you have my thanks.”

“A pleasure, love. Chat with you soon, yeah.” She nods to my two finger salute before nodding again to Zandra and heading for the door.

A couple of seconds pass with me staring up at her, Zandra’s eyes following Fareeha’s retreating back, lingering even after the door clicks shut. I nervously chew on my lip, I don’t got to be scared, ain’t done anything wrong, but I don’t like seeing her like this.

“She’s the one you saved in the wine cellar, Ana Amari’s daughter.” It’s impressive that she remembers so quickly. “She seems well.”

It’s a muse, like an offhanded comment. No bite to it. Nothing about her gives away exactly what she’s thinking about; tense shoulders, narrowed eyes but lips curled up slightly. Pensive, yeah, that’s it.

“She’s been through a lot.” I offer, there isn’t much to talk about though, at least in the concerns of Fareeha. Can’t go around spreading the childhood stories she just shared with me on our flight. Personal stuff that I shouldn’t even tell Zandra, it’s just not my place. 

“So, what brings you here, love?” I change the subject, running my fingers up her side so she’ll stop trying to glare holes into the door.

The stiffness in her shoulders gradually withers away with every pass of my thumb on her hip. She lets out a sigh and glances to the ground. The moment she looks up at me, it’s a grin on her face, sparkles in her eyes.

“What? Am I not allowed to surprise my girlfriend at work?” Her hand ruffles through my hair for a moment before tugging me by my shoulders into her chest.

“They’re doing renovations and discovered after the first night that ‘we engineers’ just got in the way. So, I am now available for the next two nights.” and then the hand wanders lower onto the small of my back, the fingers splayed out wide and teasing. I see what she’s getting at, cheeky bastard.

But there’s a thread of guilt that picks at my throat. I see Zandra; feel her, I _love_ her and at times I swear that maybe, just maybe, we can make this last forever. I want to believe it.

There’s not a pulling telling me it’s a vision. The feeling is just... _there_ ; a face, an image, a sense of impending remorse, regret, rage. The dream I had of Widowmaker two days ago keeps flitting in and out at the corners of my mind. It’s trying to get my attention, but I don’t want to think about it. True I’ve had nightmares of her after the...incident; the dirty dream, imagining her touching me like…

And I’m disgusted in myself

Cause I fucking enjoyed it.

Cause it felt so familiar.

Cause it felt _so right_

Even when I don’t want it to.

Bollocks.

It’s not like I don’t fancy her; the bird’s got legs for days. It’s just wrong, she tried to kill me, yeah. She’s the enemy, a Talon operative, made my life miserable by killing off my informants _right in front of me._  

And here she is, not even _her,_ just the thought of her and it’s cocking up my life.

What gives her the bloody right to come waltzing in when everything is finally looking up?

Zandra’s rubbing circles with her thumb on my hip.

She still doesn’t know about my dream of Widowmaker, no one knows, not even the doc I’m seeing now. Sometimes I look in the mirror, tell myself it’s alright, that it’s all a part of the healing process. Face my fears, face my angers, and make my peace, yeah?

Yeah

Don’t know if I’ll ever tell Zandra.

* * *

 

We don’t shag that night, surprisingly. Not that I’m complaining, it’s not often that we get to fall asleep in each other’s arms. I don’t remember what I dream about, but I awaken to tears in my eyes and my hand clutching onto Zandra for dear life.

She rubs circles on my back and we stay in bed until noon.

* * *

 

It’s not until I shove a hand into my pilot jacket do I remember the letter Fareeha gave me yesterday. Just ran through my checklist, Ms. Kareem should be popping up any second. A bit reluctant to read the thing, but I guess I owe it to Lucio not to shred it, might be good news, might a death threat.

A rapping at the door, game face, show time. I don’t got time right now and I’m forced cram the paper deeper into my pocket.

Can’t let myself get distracted.

* * *

 

I see Ms. Kareem off, got myself 30 minutes of break. The letter feels heavier than it should.

_Hey Lena,_

_I’ve been a real dick to you man. I’m trying to move past it and, I dunno. I don’t want to say I can’t and I don’t want to say that it’ll never happen. I’m just in a really bad spot and no that wasn’t an excuse, you better hold me accountable for how much of an ass I’m being right now._

_I miss you, Lena. It’s been too long since we’ve talked and I appreciate your calls and messages. Guess I wasn’t one to talk when I said you keep running from your problems. I want you to know that I don’t blame you for doing what you did, it’s just complicated._

_What I’m trying to say is that it still fucking hurts and a part of me is still mad at you. But the bigger part of me wants this to be over. Overwatch is done man, we’re free to go wherever the fuck we want. We can keep fighting the good fight or just chill by the beach, it’s our lives. The important thing is I really want you back in it, you know? These last months without you, Trace, not been my best months._

_You’re amazing, a great friend, always there when I need a laugh or someone to lean on. You ever heard of a platonic soulmate? I’ll be fucking damned if you’re not mine._

_I’m not sure if I’ll ever get around to sending this to you, you might be reading this with me sitting right next to you. Hell, you might be reading this cause they found it on my dead ass. But I hope it’s not too late. If you are reading this, let’s meet up. Give me a buzz, I promise I’ll answer this time._

_Love,_

_Your Lad,_ _Lucio_

I have to stop halfway through while reading the letter cause I’m crying too bloody hard. It’s relief, it’s happiness and fear and anger and every single fucking emotion all rolled into one giant confusing shite storm and bloody fuck.

Breathe

A few hours on the job to collect my thoughts. I got two more tours to give anyways, it’s not like I can buzz Lucio and bawl my eyes out with him in the middle of the hanger. Which I am doing right now just reading the letter.

But…

I guess it feels good, maybe we’ll finally move past all this, yeah? Will things go back to normal, if ‘normal’ is the right word to use. ‘Platonic soulmates’. Heh, we’re in this to the end.

Don’t know ‘til we try.

I smile, wipe the tears from my face, blow my nose, and fold the letter into a neat little square.

A cute little square.

And place it into my pocket.

My lad

Lucio.

* * *

 

Zandra surprises me again at the hangar after my last tour. 1615, right on the dot as I’m pulling in. She sticks around as I do my usual rounds, locking up and she smacks my arse on the way to the door. I turn around and pin her to the wall; not an easy feat seeing that she’s so much taller than me.

“Tryin’ to be cheeky, yeah?” I lean up against her, bringing my lips right up to hers. Playful electricity sparks through me.

“Heh, ‘cheeky’.” I’m a bit confused until she pushes past my arms on either side of her and cups my arse with both hands. A pun, she just made a bloody pun. “I have no protests against being a little _cheeky.”_

Almost effortlessly, she hoists me up by my arse, stepping away from the wall so I can wrap my legs around her. With the sudden movement upwards, our lips smash together, quickly going from an accident to a flurry of hungry kisses. My back hits the cold concrete wall of the hangar, her entire body leaning in to keep me affixed to it.

Her fingers dig in, extracting a low moan from me that gets lost in our snogging. I buck my hips up and get blindsided by the explosion of raw pleasure when my clit grinds against her. Clothes are about to come off when the overcomm system comes alive.

“You know, Tracer, we do have security cameras in our hangars. As much as I think you two are disgustingly cute, I can’t lock up until you report back and I’d _really_ like to go home tonight.”

We break apart, a wildfire of embarrassment spreading across my face. No doubt I look like a bloody tomato right now but Zandra giggles and peels me off the wall and onto her chest.

“Sod off, Kasumi.” I mutter under my breath, fully knowing that the blasted woman could still hear me.

Zandra shoulders the door open with me still wrapped around her front.

“Let’s take this somewhere a bit more private.” She whispers into my ear and I turn into a puddle of giggling mush.

Some days, I feel like I’m on top of the world.

* * *

 

I tell her to make it hurt, to leave marks. She indulges me.

It helps me remember, in some twisted way. The pain ground me just like my love for her grounds me; like my hope for being friends with Lucio again. But for now, the bites sting enough to keep me here, her nails and lips leave notes that I will hold onto like treasures when the morning comes.

But I can see it in her eyes, the reluctance and the hesitation when I cry out too loudly and she asks if she’s gone too far. We’ll have to talk about it, I don’t want to be twisting her arm into something she don’t want to do.

She wants to be gentle, and I love that.

But I can’t explain why gentle isn’t cutting it for me now…

* * *

 

There’s a shifting that coaxes me out of the hazy darkness of sleep. My body is still heavy like stone with the meds in my system. If I stay awake any longer, I’m gon’ eat everything in sight.

“Zandra?” A soft kiss touches down onto my forehead.

“ _Ana as’fi_ (sorry), _habibi._ Duty calls.” The warm body slips out from between my arms, not that I can hold on very tightly with how drowsy I am. The air isn't cold by any means, but tonight’s cool enough for me to be all for cuddling.

Cracking one eye open, I can see her walking over to the closet and getting dressed in the dim glow of my anchor. I snicker to myself at the sight of the scratch marks on her bare back. All prim and proper now, Zandra leans over to tug the sheets back into their rightful place.

“I will see you in the morning.” I worm my hand out and catch her by the nape of the neck before she can retreat. Half guiding, half pulling her down for a proper kiss.

“No promises.”

She snorts back a chuckle at my usual quip. Her hand brushes unruly locks from my face, her eyes warm despite the cool blue of the light. Sights like this makes me wonder why I doubt myself, why I would ever doubt _us._

“I love you.”

And there is hesitation in the both of us, as if we’re trying to convince ourselves. Of what, I wonder, or maybe I’m just imagining it.

“I love you too.”

She opens the bedroom door and gives me a two fingered salute.

I giggle and give her very sloppy one right back.

The door closes.

I snuggle back into the covers

And so, she’s gone.

* * *

 

I awake to an empty bed, not really surprised, it must’ve been mighty important if they rang her at 0100.

Wake up, shower, toothbrush

Almost thought it was all a dream and that Zandra was going to pop out to scare the knickers off me in the loo. But she’s not there, just Cleo snoozing in the sink.

Get dressed, cup of tea, breakfast

I click on the radio, nothing like music in the morning. We’d usually dance together, or at least she’d dance I would try not to step on her feet.

Pills, mirror, smile Lena

Zandra’s helping me feel...whole. Making all of this feel better. She’s fixing me, she’s good for me and I just gotta stick with it. Pretend like it’s new meds the doc has put me on. Feels dodgy at first, then...it gets better.

Maybe this will work. Maybe my restlessness will pass and settling down ain’t ‘gon be that bad. Maybe-

“-news; a firewall breach at a Heka International Facility in Cairo has left at least 35 people dead and dozens more fighting for their lives. More-”

The kitchen tilts, my mind finally registering the worlds of the newsflash.

_Her laying in a pool of blood, crushed beneath the rubble of this very apartment complex. Dying in the storeroom at her work with three bullet holes in her back. Motionless with my hands around her throat._

I don’t have anything in my hands to drop as the all noise drowns out and morphs into a high pitched whine. Instead, I feel my heart, my soul, my entirety fall to the ground and shatter. The tile of the kitchen floor strikes hard and cold against my knees.

“Liara” I hear my voice like it’s through water; distant, muffled. It’s a miracle that the V.I., the brilliant, brilliant V.I., can still recognize it.

“Yes Lena?”

“Tell the wigs I won’t be doing any tours today...maybe longer...personal stuff.” The coldness has seeped into my bones. My arms give out and I collapsed onto the floor. It’s not so bad down here except I can hear my heartbeat through the stone.

She’s dead, no, she’s not, ‘Until Tomorrow’.

Until tomorrow

Until tomorrow

Until-

“Acknowledged. I am detecting abnormal levels of emotional distress; have you taken your medication this morning, Lena?”

-Tomorrow…

“Lena?”

“I’m fine, Liara. You can go now.”

My gaze is unfocused as two blurry shadows slowly come into view. Something soft tickles my faces before I can hear the purring and feel Mouse rubbing his face onto mine. Blissfully ignorant. Would they worry, would they feel as dead as I do right now if they knew? The emptiness in my chest, she’s not dead, no, not that I know of.

But the concept of not knowing…

_Murcat_

Sorry mate.

I want to cry, but I got to hold out hope.

Until tomorrow

“Acknowledged, I will always be here for you, Lena.”

Stop thinking that she’s dead

But I can’t

Until tomorrow.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

Bollocks

This must be how Zandra felt when I had that hiccup at her presentation.

And when I got hurt helping Fareeha.

And when I disappeared in London.

Bollocks

How am I not dead yet?

* * *

 

There isn't much news wise, just numbers, bullshit excuses. Governments always seem to find perfect ways to cover their tracks. I tried to buzz Zandra but it don’t even ring and it’s not like I got anyone to buzz and ask for her. Nothing, hopeless and waiting for any scrap of information.

I haven’t moved from the couch in... tosh, time don’t matter now does it? The plate of food I made this morning sits cold on the coffee table, I ate two bites before my stomach decided a sandwich wasn’t the answer.

Numb

Best word to describe it

I should buzz Lucio.

But my phone’s dead, my body’s heavy, and I don’t want to move.

I don’t really want to do anything.

* * *

 

I toss my phone onto the charging pad on my way to the loo, finally taking a glance at the time.

1532

Hmmm

The bed smells like her

* * *

 

My phone rings, snapping me back to my senses. Don’t know if I dozed off or have just been lying here staring at the ceiling. I nearly choke when my heart slams into my throat. It’s not a ringtone I recognize.

The mad scramble to the charging pad is the most movement I’ve done all day. I look at the obnoxiously bright screen, not really knowing what to expect. It’s string of random numbers, hopefully it’s someone with good news, or any news really.

“Yeah?” I would have flinched at how dead I sounded, if I cared at all.

“Tracer, it’s Pharah.” Great, another surprise. Wonder why her name didn’t pop up, I got her saved. She might be calling from another phone.

Fareeha’s military, didn’t she say she patrols Heka International? I... should be happy that she’s alive. I should… But I can’t manage sympathy right now.

“I am sure you have heard the news.”

“Yeah, know that someone cocked up over there. Been in the bloody dark all day, you got something for me?”

“I do.” My heart does another leap. “Zandra Salam is being treated at El Hakim hospital, room D42. She is alive and conscious but visitors are not allowed at the moment. I know that that will not stop you so please use caution Lena, the military here is still not very fond of Overwatch.”

The edges of my vision being to blur with tears. Relief, worry, anger, and everything that doesn’t have a name floods into my mind. She’s alive, she’s alive, _she’s alive_

“Thank you.” I whisper out into the phone, holding a hand to my mouth. A real mate, Fareeha Amari. “Thank you, Fareeha, really-”

“You did not hear this from me.” She’s smiling over there, I can hear it in her voice. Not snarky, just a small one, a bit of her awkward humor to distract from the hurt.

“Hear what from you, love?” We share a chuckle, choked on my end. It’s like a breath of fresh air after drowning. “and... I’m glad that you’re still kicking.”

“Thank you. Peace be upon you, _khalil_.”

I set the phone back down on the mattress and stare up at the ceiling. Alive, she’s alive, both of them are. Didn’t need to wait for the news to see a name, a face, and cry until my eyes couldn’t take it anymore.

Not me, but someone else out there had to do that. Hardly feel guilty that it’s them...and not me.

I stand up, hook up with a shirt I haven’t spent all night and day in, and shuffle to the door. A sense of dread builds in me with every second I spend in the eerily empty flat. It’ll be all better soon, Zandra’s gon’ come home, it’s all going to be fine.

Just fine

I know it won’t be though. Nothing’s ever the same after something like this happens. I can hope, yeah?

The cats circle my feet as I open the front door, probably noticing the odd hour for my departure and the lack of Zandra all day. They purr, Mouse rubbing up against me while Cleo sits back and watches.

Right, I should fill up their bowls in case I’m out for too long.

“Don’t worry loves, I’m gon’ make things right and proper, alright?” Tears well up in my eyes. Look at me, trying to convince a pair of cats that I alone can fix this. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

* * *

 

The hospital is a massive tower of glass and some sort of beige stone. The setting sun paints it in warm oranges and reds. Were this any other occasion, I might’ve called it beautiful. My hand feels empty as I walk in through the sliding doors of the emergency wing.

There’s the usual bustle of people I would expect from a hospital; a few kids with sniffly noses and overly protective parents. Actually, never been in a ‘normal’ hospital before, got hurt plenty as a little lad but never anything enough to send me to the ER. From there, it was always Angela who patched me up when I joined Overwatch.

So... what do I do exactly?

Suddenly, a man pushes past me, making a beeline for what looks like a front desk. Course it is, it says ‘Front Desk’ on the bloody table. He starts making a ruckus with the omnic stationed there, fussing about seeing his grandson or some shite.

_Shouting, cursing, the bite of handcuffs_

_How do you know this information?_

I shake the thought from me head, it pounds against my skull before fading away. Starting to think I should start listening to these things. But the doc says they’re just visions, nothing more than that; like little lint balls made from the fabric of other memories. Irrational fears.

Little bloody annoyances, that’s what they are.

Guess I can’t just saunter up to the nurses and say ‘Oi, need to see my bird who just so happens to be an engineer at that government place that just blew up, thank you very much.’

The shouting man is escorted by a different nurse through a set of double doors. Reckon that’s my ticket in to where the patients are being treated. I hurry my way across the waiting room, biding my time until another bloke distracts the people at the desk before I slip past and over to the doors. Easy enough, I reach out and grasp the handle and now comes the real trouble of finding-

Locked

I’m a bloody idiot.

The nurses at the front desk haven’t noticed me yet but I doubt that they’ll turn a blind eye to me kicking the door down. Gotta be another way, don’t think I can explain to them how exactly I know about Zandra without the possibility dragging Fareeha into this.

“Hakim.”

My body freezes up, I barely even catch the whispered name. It’s been so long since my stint in London when I used that alias, besides no one calls people by their last name in ‘Ol Blighty. If anyone knows it from then and recognizes me; then this cannot be good. I turn my head to the right to where I heard the synthesized voice call out.

An omnic, what did Mondatta say?

_“Information is shared among machines”_

So... okay, that doesn't really explain why this mech recognizes me and is calling me over as I’m trying to break into a hospital. Mondatta called me ‘Lena’ not ‘Hakim’. I hesitantly step over to the security post next to the door, got half a mind to just dart and find a way to climb through the vents or some shite.

“Ellen Hakim, I was informed of your arrival.” Can never tell what they’re getting at, nothing to read in their face, no tone or anything. This a trap or are they a friendly?

“First off, who are you and how do you know me?” I keep my voice and head low, staring into their face for a sign, a hint, anything to answer this building apprehension in my chest.

The door opens to my left, the omnic doesn’t answer, doesn’t even seem to react to my questions. Find it a touch odd that their optical sensors are glowing a faint purple but tosh, seen some that glow bright yellow, so what if this mech wanted to look fancier than the others.

I glance to the now open door and then back to the security guard who still remains unmoving. Should I wait for an answer or?....

Piss, I’ll take it.

Without wasting another moment, I slip through the doors, hearing them automatically slide shut behind me. Now it’s me in a wide hallway with a few doctors and patients milling about. None of them look my way, too engrossed in whatever business they got going on.

There’s a map on the wall of the room numbers, ‘D42’ is on the fourth floor. I take the stairs, rather have a way out than getting stuck in a lift with some angry boots.

Don’t worry love, I’m coming.

* * *

 

This is a bad idea.

Course it is, a government that don’t like Overwatch, me sneaking in to see one of their top engineers after their facility got hacked. Thinking about it all, it paints me in a very, _very_ bad light.

But too late to back out now. I stare at the steel door, the plate next to it reads ‘D42’. Thought there would’ve been a guard posted outside by how on edge Fareeha sounded. There’s no one in the hall, it’s quiet, it’s empty and all of it is putting me on the bloody fritz.

What if they’ve got boots in there and I barge in, what if Zandra don’t want to see me and calls the alarm. How can I be sure it was Fareeha on the phone, wasn’t her number. Bollocks, this was all a trap fabricated by Talon, or Beloved of Ma’at, or some other rubbish organization that wants me dead.

Or maybe I’m just overthinking things.

Breathe in, breathe out, recenter yeah?

It’s me checking up on my girlfriend, I can talk my way out of whatever mess comes up.

Should’ve worn my accelerator, would’ve given me another route to turn tail.

I steady my erratic heartbeats the best I can and knock on the door, once, twice. Don’t even know what I would even say to Zandra. Wonder if the door is unlocked, wouldn’t want her to have to get out of bed just to open it for me.

The seconds tick by, the thoughts in my head growing louder and louder. Everything in me is screaming for me to run from this, that I don’t want this. That thought’s been there ever since we touched down in Cairo. Like this entire thing is a bad choice.

Hah, yeah well, looks like my entire life has been a string of ‘bad choices’.

My hand comes up to test the knob when there’s no answer. Just as my fingertips touch the metal, the door swings inward and a black gloved hand shoots out. My brain kicks into overdrive.

Not Zandra, definitely _not Zandra_

Falling back onto pure instinct, I drop to the ground to twist out of the way, kicking a foot out to maybe catch their leg and bring them down with me. My foot catches alright, but the surface is hard and padded; armored knee pads.

Oh bloody fucking hell.

There’s no shout to surrender or nothing, just our silent scuffle as I feel the back of my shirt get twisted up in their grasp. It comes around my throat tight and choking.

Fight or run?

I can’t shake them off. Out of the corner of my eye I see them reaching behind their back for something. Panic sets in even harder, gotta make a choice now.

Fight?

My body easily slips out of my shirt before they can get a good hold. The chilled air of the hospital rushes over my bare skin. I’m just a bra with only a millisecond to spare before they make their next move. The door begins to open more.

Or

My shirt is tossed into my face and blinds in a sea of orange.

_Make the choice, Lena_

Run?

I make the choice and surge forward with the shirt still tangled across my face, completely banking on the hope that whoever it is didn’t shut the door and I’ll be running into a face full of steel. Instead, I feel myself connect with a solid body padded in armor. I’m not the biggest person in the world, but the element of surprise is on my side as I carry them back a meter or so into the room.

My success is short lived when they quickly divert the moment and hook an arm around my neck trapping the shirt around my head. They’re bigger than me, stronger and obviously well trained. The arm tightens and my air is cut off.

I can hear shouting in the back as I’m pinned to the floor. It’s Arabic I think, or maybe I’m just so desperate for oxygen that English sounds like gibberish to me. Momentary panic makes me forget what Reyes had taught me in hand to hand combat but it soon comes back when I catch the smell of familiar spices somehow still alive in the sterile air.

What I’m here for, what I decided to _fight_ for.

It takes a lot of effort to will myself to slow my movements and then fall limp, feigning unconsciousness as I sag into their arms. The hold on my throat instantly loosens and I almost draw in a desperate gasp of air that would’ve given the entire act away.

But I stay as still as possible, bide my time and wait until the right moment when they step away and- Great Scott, I ain’t much of a patient person.

I snap my head back and feel the satisfying crack of their nose followed by a string of what I recognize as curses in Arabic. All the weight is lifted and I spring to my feet, ripping the shirt off my head and tackling them to the ground. I can feel the warm slick blood coating my fingers as I try to wrestle them down.

“Stop, stop, both of you!” I don’t even see the hands that push us apart until it’s on my chest. A warm hand against my heaving chest and I finally look up.

Zandra, hair down and messy, eyes a bit sunken but somehow puffy and red as well. Zandra, the woman who makes my nightmares easier to bear, who makes living worthwhile again. Zandra, who still takes my breath away after all this time.

A sort of sore ache that I don’t want to ever leave.

Slowly, the room stills, I sit there staring at her before glancing at whoever had attacked me first. A woman clutching her face with blood seeping out between her fingers, eyes glaring at me from behind Zandra who crouches between us as a wall.

“You should leave.” I expect her to be talking to me but Zandra’s facing the guard, voice stern leaving no room for argument. But she’s no boot, obviously, this guard doesn’t have to listen to her.

“Like hell I am leaving you alone with an Overwatch agent.” She growls back, hand going to back reaching for whatever’s strapped to her back.

“ _Former_ Overwatch agent. And she’s my girlfriend. It would be appreciated if you’d let me have a word with her in private, Maya.”

She stiffens at the statement, eyes of disbelief darting between me and Zandra. I think there’s a bit of hurt mixed in, but it might very well be the broken nose I just gave her. Maya locks eyes with Zandra, like a silent conversation, neither of them backing down as an odd sort of tension fills the air.

Finally, Maya grunts, refusing Zandra’s offered hand as she gets to her feet. She shoots me one last glare as she walks past and out the door. I finally get a look at her backside to see what she was reaching for.

A pistol strapped to the back of her belt.

“I... don’t know where to start.” Zandra stammers out. I look back to her, coming face to face with her hand.

She helps me to my feet, taking my other hand in a moment of quiet contemplation. Her nails are bitten to the point of bleeding and they tremble slightly in mine. It hurts my heart to see her like this, I want to make it all better.

“Well, this is the part where I say that I’m relieved to see you alive, love.” I murmur, looking up from our hands and to her face. She’s crying, think I am too. We’re both smiling softly, it don’t really matter how I got here yeah? Important thing is that I’m here, here. Alive.

And it feels just right. 

“Marry me.”

I choke on air, swear the entire floor can hear my heart beating against the bones of my ribs. She can’t be serious, no, Zandra doesn’t joke like this, she’s not the cruel type. Her face is bright, hopeful and radiant despite the obvious signs of stress and whatever hell she just went through.

“I-I-What?” Can’t even begin to form words with everything that has happened in the last 24 hours. Oh buddy, not dreaming am I, not floating, this is bloody happening.

She doesn’t get on a knee, doesn’t take out a ring she’s hiding in who knows where. Zandra just cups my face in her hands, guides them to her face for a slow and hesitant kiss. Like we’re once more learning how to dance, muscle memory and I breathe in a lungful of _her._

_“Hi there.”_

_Beaming, beautiful, bright_

_My ray of sunshine_

_Marry me_

_The words are dancing on my tongue and it feels so right._

_But I don’t say them_

_And I don’t know why._

But it’s not me saying them this time, it’s Zandra. And I can picture our life together, domestic and cute with two cats and a flat with orange curtains. But then what from there, I stay as a tour pilot while she goes back to work at Heka? Five years, ten, adopt a kid, a family, what about my family in Overwatch?

Can I really settle down like this? Spent my whole life hopping around from place to place, sometimes from plane of time to plane of time.

I love her, yeah, I know I do, and I believe it. And yet…

“It took a day like this to make me realize how much I don’t want to lose you, when it was all happening, all I could think about was keeping you safe from Anubis. Everything I did, it was for you. You were there in my mind and it made me realize that I want you there for the rest of my life. If you will have me. Our story’s not perfect, but it’s us, and…”

And yet I’m scared, is that supposed to happen? Innit this moment supposed to feel magical and wonderful and happy, like everything I’ve ever wanted becoming real? I’m happy, yeah, surprised, fearful, anxious, a bit lightheaded. Even if so, we’ve got each other and we’ll work on it.

“Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton, the girl who fell through time. Will you marry me?”

Together.

“Yes, oh bloody fucking hell, _yes.”_

And now I’m certain I’m crying cause she’s crying as she pulls me in for a deep kiss. Tears of joy, I want this, I want a life with her, to give her the life she deserves. Think this is the most I’ve ever wanted something.

And I want to believe it.

We pull apart into a hug where we squeeze each other so hard, giggling to ourselves in this moment. To think; all we’ve been through down to this second, all the hurt, and tosh I’m such a fucking sap.

A chance to be at peace.

_Please let it stay like this,_

Maybe, just maybe.

For forever.

* * *

 

We don’t talk, we don’t feel the need to.

Zandra pulls me into her hospital bed after I clean up in the wonderfully convenient bathroom attached to her room. She takes my hand with soft kisses and gentle touches and holds me against her chest that eventually evens out and she falls asleep with me wrapped up in her arms. I know she’s a light sleeper, but I sneeze at some point and she doesn’t even stir.

Don’t think she’s gotten any sleep since this morning.

But a chiming on her wrist holo and Zandra’s eyes shoot open. I’m nearly crushed in her embrace as she pulls me close, scrambling to throw the blanket over me. I can feel her heart pounding as well as mine; we didn’t really think this far did we?

“Salam, it’s Maya. May I come in?” Zandra relaxes at the voice but still keeps me covered as she shifts to make it not so obvious she’s trying hide another entire person on her hospital bed.

“You may.” She calls back.

The door opens and shuts, all I can see is the pale blue fabric of the gown that Zandra’s in. Footsteps comes closer until they’re by the foot of the bed.

“Captain is about to clear you for visitors. I’m sure they’ve talked to you about our confidentiality policy.” I bristle a bit at what sounds like a threat but then I feel Zandra rubbing small circles on my back with her thumb.

“Yes, we’ve reviewed it within the last hour. Twice actually. Is your nose alright?”

“I’ve had worse, told them that you accidentally punched me when I startled you. You pack quite a punch, Salam.” The bed reverberates as Maya says the last part a bit louder. She must’ve kicked the bed that wanker. “I’ll be posted outside your door if you need anything else.”

It’s weird how quickly Maya’s demeanor towards us has changed. She’s probably quite the protective one.

“We’ll be fine.” Zandra chuckles, pulling the sheet down to reveal me. I stay stock still before sheepishly lifting my face from in between Zandra’s breasts with a grin.

“Cheers?”

Maya snorts back a laugh, shaking her head as she walks back out the door. She seems like a nice bird when she’s not trying to beat me into a bloody pulp.

“So, do we want to break the news when my family comes?” Zandra asks me after a couple of minutes pass. I tilt my head up to look at her with warmth blooming in my chest.

“Tosh, right flattered that you’re asking me, but they’re your folks.”

“But we are in this together now, Zandra and Lena against the world.” Tingles explode across my face as she playfully kisses my cheek. “I want to make sure you are okay with it.”

“Course I am,” and in this moment, seeing the tinge of worry melt away from her face, makes me hopeful; her folks mean a lot to Zandra.

Wonder how I’ll break the news to pops…

“Excellent, because according to the nurses,” I see the soft glow of her wrist holo cast onto her face. “My father and brothers should be here any moment.”

Low and behold, another chime sounds from her wrist.

“Salam, your family is here to see you,” Maya’s voice carries through the door as well as the holo.

“Send them in.”

The door opens with a flurry of commotion. Sajeet rushes in first, his dress shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned; it looks as if he just came from classes with an I.D. badge still clipped to his chest. Closely after is her father and Randeep, her other brother. Her father brings her little packets of dried figs, her favorite snack, while the brothers bring a small bunch of flowers each.

They’re so overcome with emotions that they speak in Arabic far too quickly for me to pick out any words. While they do acknowledge my presence with a glance, it’s understandable that they focus on Zandra as she keeps up her smile and answers their questions.

After countless inquiries, the trio seems to be satisfied and simply relieved to know that Zandra’s alive and well. It’s also now that they begin to look at me still tucked away in her arms on the hospital bed.

“ _Ab,_ I have wonderful news.”

I tense up against her, even though I know her father has been supportive of us, it still makes me nervous. It’s a big step, yeah. Happy, but still a leap into the unknown.

“Lena and I are getting married.”

Everything in the room seems to stand still and I hold my breath. I smile sheepishly at them as shock spreads across their faces. Feels like I’m crushing her hand in mine under the bedsheets.

“That is fucking awesome!”

And just like that, the tension is broken by Sajeet’s exclamation. He dives onto the bed with a huge smile and tears in her eyes. His arms wrap around the both of us and pull us into a giant hug. Randeep and her father join in soon after.

Don’t think I’ve ever seen them this physically affectionate but bloody hell.

I’m smiling, we’re all smiling and crying and laughing.

A family.

It feels…

Just right.

* * *

 

 

They are very reluctant to go, but soon visiting hours come to a close and her family is ushered out of the room. We don’t know when she’s slated to be released from the hospital, but sometime soon once the test results come back. Zandra hides me under the covers when Maya comes in to check on us for the last time before she has to switch out with another guard.

With a sly smile, Maya says that that Troung will ‘most certainly not notice if a little mouse decided to stay or sneak out in the middle of the night.’

We spend the night together sleeping. I didn’t bring my meds or a change of clothes or anything. But it don’t matter cause I dream of her, I’ve got her in my arms, and that’s all I need.

* * *

 

In the morning, I am the first to awaken feeling like I’ve had the best sleep of my life. The room is dim, can’t tell what time it is until I glance at the clock on the wall. 1015, wow, the shades they got here must be real fancy if there isn’t any light coming in.

Zandra’s steady heartbeat nearly lulls me back to sleep until she begins to stir at the sound of her wrist chiming again. She groans, pulling me into her chest as she tries to ignore the incessant beeping.

But in the end, she answers it, the doctor and some nurses are outside with breakfast and a few results.

They don’t react when they come in and see me snuggled up against Zandra. Reckon visiting hours have already started so it’s no surprise that I’m here. The doc does comment that her vital signs have made a serious improvement in the last few hours.

We snicker. Makes me feel real fuzzy on the inside.

Zandra’s cleared to leave anytime today, the tests having come back in the green. They ask if she’d like her family to come pick her up but I tell them that I can bring her home. The nurses even bring up another breakfast just for me.

And though I am worried and curious about what happened; we both know better than to ask. At some point, a time will come when we don’t have contracts looming over our heads. So we spend the morning learning quite a lot about our different marriage customs.

I’m not too sure what ‘henna’ is, but the way Zandra describes, it sounds brilliant.

* * *

 

 

It’s around noon when we’re dressed and proper to leave. The papers are signed, her family is planning to meet us for dinner at Zandra’s place tonight. I try to buzz Lucio, heart feeling like it’s being crushed in Reinhardt’s hand, but he doesn’t pick up. It doesn’t surprise me, sort of stings but I know the lad’s got a life. We leave a message and invite him over to the apartment to join all of us for dinner.

Still don’t know how I feel about him, guess I won’t know until I finally see him after all these months.

Maya and Troung bid us farewell as we make our way to the stairs.

Stairs because Zandra still likes to rub it in how she can take two steps at a time while I struggle to keep pace. Bloody wanker.

We’re talking color schemes when we run into one of the last people I expect to see in the stairwell.

“Fareeha!” I light up when I see her turn the corner on her way up.

Zandra stiffens next to me, the words quickly dying in her throat. Her hand tightens around mine and I look up to see her frowning. Glancing between the two, it’s obvious that Zandra feels sort of tension while Fareeha is either oblivious or hides it really well.

“Hello, I am glad to see you well, Salam.” Fareeha offers a hand to shake but Zandra doesn’t even look at it.

Don’t quite know what to do, weird to see Zandra acting so rude, even when she was cold to Fareeha back at the hanger. Makes me even more curious as to what exactly happened. News says Fareeha’s squad came in to save the day, so why does Zandra seem like she’s holding a grudge against her?

“You did what had to be done.” I know that tone that Fareeha is using.

_“They’ll survive.” She says as sure as day._

Her way of comforting people.

“I don’t doubt that I did. But while my team gets brushed aside as collateral, your squad is getting hailed as heroes.” There is so much hurt and hate dripping from Zandra’s words, it makes me want to flinch back and ask her what’s wrong.

“That was not my intention-”

“The thought is noted but you can take it and shove it somewhere else.”

Fareeha snaps her mouth shut, her hand coming back sharply to her side. She’s falling back into military customs; an impassive face, stiff posture, tight pressed lips. I can tell she’s searching for the right words to say as she glances to me for a moment. She doesn’t get the chance as Zandra tugs me forward, urging us past her.

I throw a sympathetic shrug to Fareeha as we part and mouth the word ‘sorry’.

I’ll be sure to buzz her at some point and apologize for Zandra; I felt rather crummy after I was cold to Fareeha when she was trying to comfort me when Lucio and Murcat were sent to Luxor.

Zandra doesn’t offer as explanation as we get into my car and I don’t press her for answers.

We both know better.

* * *

 

 

The cats are ecstatic when walk in the door with grocery bags in our hands, nearly making us trip over them as they weave in between our legs. Zandra kisses me on the cheek and thanks me for filling up their bowls before I had left for the hospital. It’s the thought that counts.

We put on Charlie Chaplin as we get to work on dinner.

In between transferring cubed squash into a glass dish and picking herbs from our little windowsill planter, we steal little glances, touches, and kisses.

We do a little ballet despite me having two left feet and I nearly drop an onion when she wraps her arms around my waist from behind. Her lips pepper my neck with kisses and sends me into a fit of giggles. She turns me around, looks into my eyes.

And my breath catches because she is just so beautiful.

And I wish that I was more poetic to put it into words.

And I’m amazed how well she’s handling all of this, guess the military teaches us a thing or two about burying emotions yeah? Like back to normal, but there are little things.

How in the last two hours I’ve found a handful of new scars that I smooth over with my lips. I can hear a hoarse rasp at the tail end of her voice. The slight hesitation in her hand every time she reaches to open the refrigerator door. 

I’m not the most observant person in the world, but when it comes to Zandra. She’s a woman of habit.

I hope I can help her.

My fingers interlock just below her messy ponytail and I pull her down. Her eyes jerk to me as if broken from a daze. Our lips move against each other, the dance from our feet moving to our mouths. Slow, sensual, sundering down our looming towers of worry and doubt.

We can barely breathe when we finally pull apart.

“I love you.”

A chuckle, the knocking of our foreheads together.

“I love you, too.”

Pure bliss.

* * *

 

“Ok, no, MunkRat is an offense character, why the bloody hell would you play him on defense?”

“Because he is too much fun. Do you realize how satisfying it is to blow up an entire wave of minions in one go?”

We banter back and forth as we wait for the oven timer to count down. There’s a netgame that we both just got into recently and she may be a brilliant engineer, but her game logic is rubbish.

The doorbell rings through the flat, cutting off our little debate. My heart leaps. Lucio never got back to me about tonight, so there’s still a chance that he’ll show. At the same moment, the oven timer beeps and we lock eyes.

“Dibs on the squash.” I leap to my feet and bound into the oven before she can protest. She’s got longer legs so that makes her more suited for the longer trek to the front door.

It’s really to hide the fact my hands are getting a touch clammy as I slide the mitts on after killing the alarm. How am I going to act around Lucio? If he even decides to show up. Can we...can we really just move past it so easily?

The hot air of the oven hits me square in the face. I fumble a bit getting a grip on the sides of the dish before lifting up and onto the stove top. The front door opens…

“Lucio! You made it.”

And a wave of nausea crashes into me. Really, I don’t got a reason to feel this way. I was the one who invited him over, and we do need to talk about it. Or at least, tosh, I do miss the lad. Everyone deserves another chance.

“What is cooking, it smells awesome in here.”

I hear their chattering voices coming around the corner, Zandra explaining what food we have prepared for tonight. I duck into the fridge and pull out a cold bottle. The sudden chill rushes into my lungs with a deep breath and I stand back up.

“Trace the ace.” Lucio grins widely the moment he sees my face pop up from the refrigerator door.

I don’t need to try as hard as I thought for the smile that comes naturally across my lips. The simple sight of him just sends relief pouring down my back. Cause he’s smiling, he’s dressed up in a nice button up and slacks and looking fine as ever.

He has a six pack of my favorite brew in his hand and I have a six pack of his favorite in the fridge.

We smile even wider and exchange a bottle for a bottle. Zandra excuses herself to the restroom and to check on the cats, I give a nod of appreciation before she goes. She’s giving us a minute alone.

Lucio hands me the cardboard holder so I can put the rest into the fridge. We don’t talk for a moment, he’s probably mulling over what to say like I am. So instead, I grab up a bottle opener, pop the caps off our drinks and raise mine towards him.

“Cheers, it’s been too long.” I can feel the drumming of my heart echoing through my arm and against the cold surface of my beer.

He would say that I’m running away from it, refusing to be the first to say ‘we need to talk, mate.’ But Lucio’s eyes soften, he’s tired and grateful, clinking his bottle against mine. It’s a silent agreement, like when we threw the shipping out party, got spontaneous tattoos; we’re both in desperate need of a distraction tonight.

“Too fucking long, man.”

We can pretend everything is normal for just a little bit.

* * *

 

Her family comes about halfway through my second bottle. The table is set for everyone by the time they walk in and we do our little introduction dance. Sajeet knows who Lucio is, a decent fan of his music, they chat about that for a bit until Randeep and Lucio find an unlikely bond over an old art form called ‘claymation’.

If it’s not Zandra monopolizing my attention, then it’s her father who bombards me with whole-hearted, but still intimidating, questions about my income, assets, work and other business-y type things.

Zandra says it’s all a normal part of the engagement period around here. Something about a “mahr” and a “shabka” is tossed around. She tells me not to worry about those since they’re old customs, that this isn’t ‘traditional’ wedding seeing that my folks are not exactly available.

After the meal, we move ourselves from the table to the couches. Together, we clear the dishes and bring the fruit out for dessert. Lucio follows me into the kitchen when I go in to grab myself another drink.

I hand him a bottle as well and we lean on the counters facing each other.

“I did not see you as the marrying type, ya’ know.” Lucio comments, a bit teasing and slightly slurred.

I expect him to be sad and reminded about him almost getting engaged with Murcat. I remember that bit, makes me feel a touch of regret. But either he’s moved on or he’s gotten real good at hiding it.

“Full of surprises, aren’t I?”

Lucio pauses, glancing out the doorway of the kitchen and into the living room where Zandra and her family are chatting on the couches. It’s quiet for a bit, would go as far to call it peaceful with the only sounds being their voices and the background noise of the streets below.

“That you are, Trace.” He looks back to me with a small smile. His eyes a bit wet. “I’m happy for you. Hold onto her, Zandra’s a great person.”

My eyes travel to the living room as well as I take a long drink from my bottle. The bitterness is a sharp contrast to the warmth I feel surging through my body. Happens every time I look at her; like floating.

But good.

“Did you mean all those things in your letter?” I ask.

The buzz seems to lift from my head. I really care about Lucio, I want him back in my life too. Tonight’s been a little awkward at times, I think it’s obvious to both of us that there are a couple things we are tip toeing around. But now that we’re alone, it’s about time we air it out.

Bet the lad’s proud that I was the one to bring it up.

“I did,” Lucio looks down at his hands, picking at the label of his beer. “Sorry for being such a dick about it.”

“That you were,” We chuckle. “But that don’t mean I’m spick and span either.”

“Wish it could be like old times.”

“I do too sometimes. But sorry mate, not even my accelerator can do that much.” It’s the sad truth, that things will probably never be the same. We’ve felt the little bumps all night, but we’ll work on it. “We just gotta keep movin’ forward, yeah?”

Another nameless ache settles in my chest, feels like I’ve been carrying it around my entire life, maybe longer.

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

A week passes, Lucio and I buzz each other at least once a day. I book him a tour, take him to the skies. He blasts his music in the cockpit while we soar above the city. Ain’t nothing like jamming to some heavy beats and doing twirls in the air.

Zandra’s father keeps in touch, giving us little tidbits of traditional weddings, but he seems to know to keep his distance after Zandra snaps at him at some point when he became a little too insistent. We decide on trying to combine the customs of both cultures into a little ceremony.

I don’t got any family to invite other than Lucio.

I broke the news to my father and he was so happy. We could barely hear his words over his crying and laughing. Of course they won’t let him attend the wedding in person, but we’re trying get them to let us video chat him during the ceremony; but first we’ve got to choose a date.

It’s slow going now that Zandra has to go back to work to fix whatever got cocked up. I start taking less and less tours so I can spend more time with her planning this whole thing out. Plus, the tour giving doesn’t feel too exciting anymore. Rather be spending my days with Zandra than trying to make small talk with strangers.

“We could have it at a hotel.” Zandra pulls up a long list of fancy places in Cairo, all the colors make my head spin.

We don’t want it at a religious place seeing that neither of us are that particularly devoted. There’s a handful of nice gardens that we’ve picked out, some spots next to the Nile, a joke of getting married at the fruit stand.

“A bit too grand, I’m all for fancy but we’re not looking at a lot of people, yeah?”

She murmurs an agreement, scanning through the massive banquet halls that are for rent. A hum of curiosity catches my attention and I peer onto the screen of her laptop.

“Look at that, _habibi._ Some organization turned the old watchpoint here into an Overwatch Museum.” A little advert enticing people to visit the Cairo Watchpoint flashes on the sidebar. Memories come back, some fond, others a bit bitter but it’s nifty nonetheless.

“Imagine if we got married there.”

_Lighthearted, I point to my chest with a smirk._

_“If you’re in need of a muse, I’m available.” I wag my eyebrows, waiting for her to giggle._

_But instead, she lights up and clasps my hand tightly in hers._

_“That’s perfect! I would love to do my report on chronal distortion technology.”_

And again, it’s another offhanded comment of mine that makes her light up like a touch and grab my hand in hers. Zandra smiles so brightly with eyes sparkling as if to say ‘challenge accepted’.

“Bloody hell-”

“Lena, I absolutely love that idea, I know it was a joke, but think about it. It’s where this all started, we can rent the place and look at all the displays, maybe have a little fun in your old briefing room.”

Bollocks, when she puts it like that and looks so excited. It’s not that it’s a bad place, it’d be real cool to have a themed wedding at one of my old posts. Maybe I can ask the head of the place if they ever found my favorite mug while they were cleaning out.

Come to think of it, it sounds brilliant.

Blasted woman.

* * *

 

The panel next to the door blinks red again, denying me entry to the flat. Cursed thing, reckon my implant is on the fritz cause the scanner at work did the same thing this morning.

Left my physical keys on the nightstand too, like anyone even uses physical keys anymore. But I’m pretty sure Zandra’s home.

I try to ring the bell but the digital panel don’t even register my fingers.

Maybe Zandra knows a thing or two about recalibrating identity chips.

“Oi Zandra, can you open the door, damned thing won’t let me in.” I pound on the surface hard enough in case she’s in the loo or bedroom.

What I don’t expect is a loud crashing in direction where the kitchen is. Sounds like metal and some solid crumpling to the floor. My throat tightens, hand pounding at the door again.

“You alright, love?” There’s no answer, no footsteps and my mind begins to supply all the worst case scenarios.

Did I spook an intruder in our flat? Did Zandra have a bad fall, what if she’s on the floor bleeding from her head or-

“Zandra?! Zandra, please answer, you’re scaring me love.” No, she has to be home, I saw her car parked outside, it’s the weekend and tosh she better be alright. She...She just got spooked and dropped something yeah?

“Alright, Zandra or whoever’s in there, you got three second to pipe up before I’m coming in hot.”

I take a step back, time to put my breaking and entering skills to the test. Breathe, never actually kicked down a door before, I usually prefer windows myself.

1

2

3

In one solid kick, I slam my foot right below the knob with all my might and to my surprise, the door flies in. A bit concerning when I’m quite the tiny person and yet kicking this door down wasn’t all too hard.

But now’s not the time to consider the security of our flat when there’s the real possibility that someone might already be in here keeping Zandra hostage.

Please, oh please. If it’s the Beloved of Ma’at again...what they did to Fareeha.

I don’t have a weapon of any sort other than my fists. I just hope I’m over reacting, I hope none of this means anything and-

I turn the corner with the arms up ready for a fight.

They lower just a hair when I see her, my heart drops to my stomach.

I almost mistake her for a pile of clothes, huddled in the corner made by the sofa and the sliding glass door to the balcony. Zandra has her head buried in her arms and between her legs. Even from meters away, I can tell she’s shaking and rocking herself back and forth.

My body wants to run over to her but my training screams at me to search the perimeter. I have no clue what happened, I know what it looks like, I’ve had plenty of panic attacks myself. But this might be different, might be someone in the flat and as much as I don’t want to let her out of my sight right now; I need to make sure it’s safe before anything else.

“Zandra, what happened, is there anyone else in the apartment?” I keep her in the side of my vision as I check the kitchen. There’s two mixing bowls and a bunch of potatoes scattered across the tile.

She doesn’t answer me, but I have to keep pushing forward no matter what.

“I’m going to check the other rooms, stay right where you are, love.”

“Wait.”

Her choked voice wrings the bloody life out of my heart. I freeze in place, glancing between her and the hallway to the bedroom.

“It’s just me here. I-I-I” Zandra stutters with her words. I finally let myself rush over to her side, I make my final steps up to her slow and steady, whispering to her softly so I don’t startle her.

Everyone handles these things differently

“I’m here love, it’s me, Lena Oxton yeah? I’m coming up on your left. You’re safe, I’m here, you got nothing to worry about.” a bit hesitant to touch her, I’ve never seen her like this and I’m scared that I’ll just make it worse. “Zandra, I’m gon’ put my arm around you, okay. Is that alright with you?”

A few moments pass until she nods, still crying into her arms.

I gingerly wrap my arm around her shoulders and she’s shaking like crazy. My lip hurts from being bitten so hard between my teeth; to see her like this. Bloody fuck, I’m so sorry.

The moment I get my arm completely around, she leans into my body, her own arms coming and encompassing my waist. Zandra holds on for dear life, sobbing softly into my shoulder as I rub circles on her back. I keep whispering gentle things that people used to whisper to me.

“I’ve got you.”

“It’s going to be alright.”

_“Shhh, I’ve got you love. You’re safe, not gonna let anyone else hurt you.”_

_“I’m here for you, Fareeha, you’re gonna be okay.”_

“Ain’t gon’ let anyone hurt you, Zandra.”

“I’m here for as long as you need me.”

“I love you.”

She never answers me or finishes the sentence she began, I don’t expect her to, I’m just glad she’s alright. At least physically, well, at least not on the floor bleeding out.

At some point, we move to the couch. Her breathing is steadier and she stopped crying about ten minutes ago. I get up to shut the front door and send a blip to the local police about the incident in case any neighbors call it in. I’m about to go into the kitchen to clean up the dropped items but I see Zandra’s sitting up, watching me intently with big puffy eyes.

The mess can wait.

I join her back on the couch, turning the telly onto a sitcom we like to watch. It fills the silence and gives her something to focus on. I hold her for an episode until she begins to fidget.

“Can I hold you, Lena?” She says quietly.

“Of course, love.”

With a bit of a tussle, we switch positions, her arms around my waist and my head tucked under her chin. My phone chimes with the notification of the take-out runner at our door. I message him to come right in and ignore broken knob.

He doesn’t comment, reckon he’s gotten weirder call than this.

Two hours pass, the empty wrappers of our sandwiches lay on the coffee table. I smile a bit at the knowledge that Zandra ate her entire sandwich, I know that I sometimes go for an entire day without eating when I’m having an episode.

The program ends and I shut the telly off before the news that is supposed to come up starts. Reckon that it’s one of the last things we want to be watching at this moment. We lay in a comfortable silence, it’s actually quite peaceful and I begin to feel myself drift in and out of sleep.

As much as I don’t want to move, nature soon calls and I have the strong need to take a piss.

“Mmm, Zandra. I gotta go to the loo.” I stroke her arms, feeling her soft hairs brush against my palm. They tighten and pull me in a bit. “I know love, I don’t want to move either.”

Still no response other than her snuggling her face into the crook of my neck. Her breath tickles my skin.

“Tell you what, how about I run us a hot bath and I’ll get you when it’s ready. I’ll be gone for 5 minute tops, yeah?”

Eventually, her embrace loosens and I gently lift myself off the couch. Turning back, I brush the hair from her face, relieved to see her eyes a bit brighter than the empty ones I had first walked in on. But they remind me of when I found Fareeha in that cellar; the humiliation, the embarrassment.

I remember feeling those emotions myself as Zandra would hold me after one of my nightmares.

“I’ll be right back before you know it, love.”

She catches me before I can pull back from kissing her forehead, nearly making me lose my balance as she guides me down for a proper kiss on the lips. It’s quick but sweet. My heart leaps at the tiniest hints of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Thank you.” Zandra whispers, her hand slides off the back of my head.

For all those times that she’s comforted me, all those times she was willing to forgive me for snapping after a bad day on the field. For all the shite we’ve been through, it makes me feel real good that I can finally be there for her.

“Cheers, love. I’ll always be here for you.”

* * *

 

We help each other get undressed. The bathroom is warm and a bit steamy from the tub full of water but there are still goose bumps all across every bit of our skin that is revealed as fabric falls away. I press soft kisses up her stomach as I ease the shirt up and over her head. Trailing gently across her breasts, her bra joining the other clothing strewn across the floor.

Zandra runs her hands up and down my back. With one hand cupping the slimmer anchor between my shoulders and the other on the side of my face, she brings me up for another slow kiss.

We’re in no hurry, taking our sweet time to explore each other as if for the first time. It’s not hot and heavy, but, guess ain’t really another word other than _gentle_. Could spend all the time in the world like this and I wouldn’t be mad about it.

We do ultimately make our way into the warm water, I slot myself with my back pressed up against her front. It’s even better than the couch with water surrounding us like a blanket.

“Lena,” Zandra starts hesitantly, she’s been rubbing circles with her thumb anytime she has a hand on me.

“Yeah?”

“I... I would like to tell you what happened.”

I twist enough so I can see her face. She’s got her bottom lip between her teeth and brows furrowed in.

“You don’t got to, but I’d love to listen.” I stretch to kiss whatever I can, which turns out to be the cut of her jaw.

“I know, and thank you for not pressuring me. I’m going to be putting you in a lot of danger if I tell you.”

“Please, ‘member what you said. I love danger.” It’s enough to coax a small chuckle out of her.

Zandra lets out a slow sigh and fidgets with her hands.

“When Mark called me last night-”

I slide my eyes shut, listening to her recount the events that happened at the facility. A tingling begins at the back of my head and I begin to envision it as the story unfolds.

_“The first two firewalls have been breached, Anubis has seven more before the chronolock will trigger and then one last firewall if that fails. We have to stop it before it can establish a connection with the WorldNet and there’s no guarantee whether the chronolock will hold. There’s only one manual shut off that remains uncompromised and that’s in sub-level 4. The place is crawling with mechs so you’ll have to be careful.”_

_“Sir, shouldn’t we get an armed escort if there are so many enemies ready to shoot us? We’re engineers, not soldiers.”_

_“These robots are running on a hive mind, Sajeet. Soldiers are trigger happy and if we alarm one bot, we’ll have the entire place on our back.”_

_“Correct. This is an infiltration mission. While you may not by ‘trigger happy soldiers’ like us, you’re techies with the knowledge of how to shut this thing down. Remember, don’t be a hero, it only takes one person to flip the kill switch. One life is not worth the world”_

Zandra pauses for a moment, her breathing having picked up. ‘The man or the mission’. It’s a situation that seems to come up very often in the military world. I press fluttering kisses onto her neck, trying to coax her to relax back down.

She sighs, continuing-

_My team going in consists of seven people, the last three staying behind with headquarters to keep advising on the developing situation. They want me to stay but Anubis has not doubt corrupted every security protocol in there. I helped code most, if not all, of them. If anyone is going to get a team in as quick and quietly as possible, it’ll have to be me_

_I don’t trust anyone else to get it right…_

_By the time my team makes it onto sub-level 4, Anubis is working on the sixth firewall. Extrapolating the data would give us about ten minutes before it triggers the chronolock._

_The server rooms are all connected to each other by a network of large vents to keep them running at optimal temperatures. These vents also connect to every control room on the station just for ‘dire situations’ like this._

It’s a bit concerning to think that the government actually plans for these things to happen.

_I get my team through without incident. We’re no soldiers, Kim can’t stop shaking, but we’re holding it together. We’re not too far off from the control room when an explosion goes strong enough to collapse the concrete below us. In a whirlwind of dust and sand, all seven of us fall through the ceiling and into a hallway full of omnics._

_Their eyes flash red, their weapons lift_

_And that is when the first two are killed in front of my eyes._

_Mario and Laney. Laney wrestles a firearm from one of the bots and fires back before her head is blown clean off._

_We don’t have time to stand in horror. I shout and shove, screaming at everyone to move. Their deaths serve as enough of a distraction for the remaining five of us to sprint down the hall, explosion after explosion tearing through the building._

_I can’t cry for them, not yet._

_“Perry, what the bloody fucking hell is going on?!”_

_“----through---chr--ck been hacked----free---squad in.” The radio is filled with static and with footsteps sounding from all sides, I know that we’re too far to make a straight sprint for the control room._

_There are a multitude of ‘Vaults’ throughout the facility, another fail safe in case the unthinkable of Anubis breaking free happened. Each room has supplies and reinforced walls with a light and a communication radio inside as the only pieces of tech. The door is a massive circle of steel only operational by living human beings with some sort of archaic pulse sensor that is literally so analog it doesn't even have software to corrupt._

_These vaults are to serve as havens to keep humans safe from rampant mechs outside._

_I don’t know how she ended up the fastest out of her team, maybe luck, genetics, or my time on the farm. But I make it into the vault and turn to see the last three of my team on the other end of the hall with mechs on their heels._

_Don’t be a hero_

_It’s an order. A logical one. I can’t...I can’t rely on chance._

_The door will take a long time to close and lock into place, there is no guarantee that they will even make it to me in time, or alive._

_It only takes one person to flip the switch_

_It’s a choice I make, for the world, for Lena who means the world to me. The world could always use more heroes._

_I begin the push the door closed._

_Bullets pelt the steel, their hot sparks rain down on my skin.  I can’t let myself close my eyes; what if something happens and I can’t see. I keep pushing even as I hear Sajeet and Kim screaming at me to wait. I keep pushing pass the tears and the guilt rise like bile in my throat._

_Until the door clicks shut and I force myself not to cry as I turn the handle to lock it in place. It’s only operational on the inside._

_And even as the pounding starts and the begging starts and finally I can't hold my tears back anymore. I’m safe, I’m safe to close my eyes and just-_

_“Salam! Salam, open the door, they’re coming!”_

_“Don’t you fucking let us die out here!”_

_“Open the door!”_

_“Please, Zandra, I don’t want to die, open-”_

_Even after I’m was sure they have already been killed by the mechs, the voices didn’t stop._

_“Why didn’t you let us in?”_

_I curl myself into a ball at the far end of the room, head tucked into my legs trying to drown out the incessant accusations. They’re wrong, I did what I had to. With what was at stake, one outweighs the other._

_“You could’ve saved us.”_

_“You’re a coward, selfish, what would Lena think?”_

_“Would she want such a monster in her life?”_

_“As her girlfriend?”_

“As my wife?”

I turn myself around and pull Zandra into my chest as she sobs freely.

My head pounds, I see it again and I can’t breathe.

_Dying in the storeroom at her work with three bullet holes in her back._

Is that what that vision was?

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” She chants over and over again as we sit. I’m crying for her, it’s one of the worse scenarios to be put in.

So I hold her tight and lean back so she now rests on my pounding chest in the warm water. I keep whispering to her that it’s alright, that she did the right thing-

And I stiffen when I realize it’s the same thing Fareeha said.

“Don’t, don’t say that because that’s the fucking thing.” Zandra lifts her head, eyes angry. At the world or at herself?

“I’m not sorry for closing that door, as...as bad that that makes me sound. It was the logical choice, it was my order that if that situation arose, my guaranteed survival was worth more than betting against all of us dying. I _know_ that closing that door was the right choice even if they were my friends…”

Guilt cuts into my heart at the last line.

_“What if that was me, Lena. Would you have drowned me without a second thought and hid it from everyone?”_

_“Trace, you didn’t have to kill him, he was our friend, my fucking love. Did none of that count for something?”_

The memory of Lucio and Mucat makes me hold Zandra even tighter. I know that feeling; the never ending guilt that consumes from the inside out, and the self-loathing even though in the end, who gets to decide what was the ‘right choice’?

“It did not fucking matter though.” The fresh anger dripping off of Zandra’s words startles me out of my thoughts-

_I stop my sniffling. My tears won’t bring them back, it’s not the right place or time. There’s still a job I need to do._

_My plan is to sneak out of the vault after the bots decide to move on. Perry had said that if communication was lost, then another squad would be sent in to destroy the mainframe as a last resort. I can use that as a distraction, maybe giving me enough time to hit the kill switch so all our work doesn’t need to be obliterated._

_Even with the sounds of pounding on the door and the voices of my dead friends begging me to open it. I know I can’t, I know they’re not there and I just...I just need to work past it._

_Anubis is probably finding a way to jam radio signals. But the radios in the vaults are hardwired to a completely separate server, the thing is not even digital. Ironic that with all this technology, it’s the archaic stuff that might save the day._

_“Perry? This is Zandra Salam, Secondary Head of the Anubis Quarantine Sector, does anyone read me?”_

_“Salam, it’s Perry, thank the fucking gods you’re alive. Communications have been cut for the last half hour, what the hell happened?”_

_Half an hour? Has it really been that long that I’ve been sitting in here? Where does that put Anubis, has the chronolock stopped it? Is it finally over?_

_It’s just so quiet in here._

_“-copy? Salam, answer me.”_

_I’ve seen people die before, they do it all the time. It’s inevitable, it’s what humans do. We all knew what we were going into, we signed up for this. But...I killed them._

_“-alam!”_

_“I’m sorry sir, I was…”_

_“I need you to focus. The Helix squad we sent in met heavy resistance and we haven’t heard an update since they breached Anubis’ Tomb.”_

_“I’m going into the server room located next to me and into the vents. From there I’ll be able to reach the control room and activate shutdown.”_

_“Negative. You are to stay put, we’re keeping you as a last resort now if Khalil’s squad fails.”_

_“But-”_

_“It’s an order, Salam. Stay in the vault and on comm, clear?”_

_A pause. I’m no soldier...but an order’s an order._

_“Understood.”_

“A feedback loop, something so simple disabled Anubis. They didn’t need my team in there, I didn’t need to lock myself in that vault. The choice I made to save myself didn’t fucking matter because Amari’s squad was out there playing the real heroes. She told me her story on the transport to the hospital. ‘The man or the fucking mission’. Her mother must be so proud.”

I’m speechless, really, how do I comfort a person in a situation like this. She don’t blame herself, and... tosh I’m fucking bad with words.

“You don’t need to say anything, Lena.” Zandra somehow senses my internal conflict as the silence drapes over us. “It’s feels good to finally get it off my chest. I’m being irrational, it’s over and done. Crying about it won’t fix anything.”

It hurts so much to hear her say that. Such a cold way to see the world, what’s life without a little color? Gotta have downs to make you realize how good the ups are.

“Don’t blame yourself for caring love.” I whisper so quietly, makes me feel like a hypocrite. I was telling myself the same thing back in London. “Crying don’t help the world, but it helps the heart, yeah?”

Life is a balance, as Mondatta would say.

“Do you...do you still want to marry a woman who let her friends die?”

“Of course, as shitty as that sounds and what that says about me. I love you no matter what, you are you, love. That one moment don’t define who you are, Zandra.”

Forgive yourself and find peace.

Mad at the situation, not the person. It might be just trying to avoid taking responsibility but it makes things easier to handle.

She falls silent, mulling over my words. Slowly, she nods, tucking her face into my neck.

We sit for a bit, I sneak a hand over to turn on the tub heater when the water starts to get a bit chilly. The moment passes, it’s just comfortable silence that we share with the gentle strokings of our finger over skin.

But if confessions are to happen…

“Love, not to make this about me, but I got some stuff I’m not too proud of myself.” I might just be adding to the mess by telling her. But it’s like ripping off a plaster, might as well get it over with.

I thought I had made my peace with killing Murcat. When I’m alone, and think or just talk about it to myself, it’s rational, but as I’m about to recount the tale to Zandra…

I’m scared of what she’ll think of me and the words get weighed down by my shame.

“When I got sent to London, they had me doing Blackwatch stuff and, well, fuck. Why Lucio was mad at me is because I ran into Murcat there. He pulled a gun on and me and…I killed him. The bastard had defected to Talon and-”

“Wait.”

Zandra stops me, surprise in her hushed voice, but not anger? Lucio socked me right in the face when I told him but Zandra looks like she just saw a ghost. 

“You are saying you ‘killed’ Murcat before dissapearing at King’s Row?”

I nod.

“That can’t be possible,” She stares at the water, falling very quiet and still, her eyes darting back and forth. What is she going on about? What’s there to question about me dragging Murcat to the bottom of a river and drowning him?

“I don’t understand love.”

“Lena, it doesn’t make sense because I _talked_ to Murcat back in Belarus.”

Once again, I am at a loss for words. When did Zandra go to Belarus and-

“What?”

“In my holo to you, the one that I told Lucio to give you.”

Like a faucet, the words poor out of her mouth; a stream that starts as a trickle before the ball gets rolling. Feels like I’m watching the brilliant ticking of her brain.

“A timeline if you will; I made that holo right after you disappeared, meaning at that point you had already encountered and killed Murcat. Which can’t be true because I had a conference that was two months after that.

Our transport got intercepted by Talon and we were taken hostage. They roughed us up but fed us and treated us decently actually for the couple of days before Overwatch extracted us out. At some point, I remember it. Murcat pulled me aside from the rest of my team and we talked.

I am certain it was him, he told me how Talon saved him from the Beloved of Ma’at, and how they made him realize that Talon was the only thing that stood a chance to prevent the downfall of man or something. He wasn’t making any sense and kept rambling about the vids that Reyes had discovered about Mercy’s experiments. I remember you tell me about them as well.

He kept repeating that the power of bringing people back to life is something no one should have, that it’s only a matter of time before the heroes become the villains. Talon has to have done something to him, fed him lies or something because he was not the Murcat we used to know.”

Her words stop abruptly and her head snaps up to stare at me with eyebrows drawn down and eyes full of confusion and dread. I stare back expecting her to finish the thought but she doesn’t say anything; just detaches from the world as her mind whirs to put all pieces that I don't see together.

“Zandra? You-” I get a bit scared as the seconds tick by and she doesn’t respond.

“The chronolock.” She whispers very quietly as if regretfully remembering it. Her head bows down, a curtain of wet hair covering her face. “It was tripped, it had worked but someone had overridden it.”

“So it was an inside job, what does this-”

“No, no, listen.” Zandra looks up at me with a face that says ‘remember, punishable by death’. It’s fear, raw and real.

“They wanted to make it so only human could override it so I programed a blood lock; it needs three people to insert their arms into separate chambers where their blood is taken and screened against samples of _only_ my team. Meaning a team of three was able to hack and log their blood samples into the system and then were able to wait until Anubis was trapped in the chronolock before overriding it.

When we recovered those three samples, two were barely even recognizable as human, but we have a profile on the third sample.”

She a takes a breath, waiting to see if I’ve been following along. It’s a struggle, but I don’t see what she’s trying to get at-

“Ardashir, or as we know him ‘Murcat’. He’s still alive, Lena, it was his blood that we found in the chronolock override.” 

It clicks and a sharp gasp of air barrels into my lungs.

We both sink back into the bath simultaneously, a sort of haze settle over us. It’s...it’s a lot to fucking take in.

That Murcat somehow survived

That he’s still working with Talon

That he helped kidnap Zandra

That Mercy somehow still tangled in all of this

And Anubis. 

“Fucking...fuck. And you knew about this?” It’s the wrong thing to say, of course we’re used to keeping secrets from each other. I’m too dazed to stop myself though as I see the hurt flash across her face.

“I can’t tell you every government secret I know, Lena. Our organizations hate each other for one reason or another, and besides.” She looks away to avoid my eyes. “You were not around at the time…”

The water moves around us as I glide my hand over and pull Zandra back over to me. She doesn’t pull away, actually, think she pushes herself along and sits up to wrap her arms around my neck. I bury my face into the crook of her neck and drink in the smell of soap and _her._

I’m here now.

“I’m sorry.”

I don’t want to think about it.

The smell of dust and ozone, no longer of sweet fruit or sunshine. But of course, the hint of cumin even though we didn’t even cook tonight. Just want my head to stop pounding as if it’s trying to consume itself with all the new information. There’s also the thought that we have to tell Lucio and…

I kiss her neck, open mouthed and needy. My hums get translated into soft giggles and sighs, my tongue into gasps and quiet moans. I taste the bitterness of the soap at first, then nothing, and then her. Through half opened eyes, I can see the scars and marks I’ve memorized along with new ones I don’t.

Ones that Murcat put there.

My anger flares, the bastard, the traitor. Were his ideals so much more important that he’d turn against us? Helping people, that’s what we do, that’s what we stand for, not some fucking conspiracy theory like Talon.

Singing

My mind snaps out of the ditch it had been wearing into the ground. A distraction is what I need, what we both need. Zandra’s singing softly, thumbs rubbing small circles onto my back. Her lips come down to kiss my forehead, then my nose, and then finally on my lips.

“How about we think about it in the morning, _habibi.”_   Zandra whispers low and husky with a halfcocked grin. I can hear the hidden desperation in her voice, I can hear it in the hitching of my breath.

It’s lust backed by apprehension; we’re both hungry for each other, for confirmation that we’re still _her,_ as well as for something to put distance between us and our thoughts. The night becomes a journey with our hands roaming aimlessly as if exploring new territory. We fly high above the world and all its troubles, into the clouds, to our little pocket of gentle.

_Not forever_

Maybe

But at least

_for just a bit longer_

* * *

 

We don’t talk about it in the morning.

Or for next day.

Or for the week that follows.

I’ve been accepting fewer and fewer tour offers, it was never for the money and now with a wedding that needs to be planned. Besides, I don’t really know why but I have been becoming less and less interested in the whole thing.

Maybe I need to move on, find something else than flying strangers to the same landmarks over and over again.

* * *

 

It starts on a whim, a week after the talk in the bathtub. After four hours of trying to get the catering straightened out with little luck, my legs get restless. Can’t remember when I went on a jog.

_When was the last time I actually sat down and ate a meal without thinking about my next task? How long have I gone since relaxing, taking a morning jog, a nice cup of tea in the window sill? It makes my heart unbearably heavy._

I got to remember the lessons I’ve learned. Can’t let history repeat itself.

So I go for a jog.

He spots me first, ‘Scribe’, one of my favorite informants back in the day. Owns a gun shop, plenty of folk love to boast and size each other up with tales of the streets. Told me things are too quiet with Overwatch gone, it’s a shame, he really believed in what we stood for.

One thing leads to another and he tells me if I ever need information, he’d love to give it to me. “For old time’s sake.”

I didn’t even think about looking further into the entire Murcat still being alive thing. Every time I think about it, just makes my head spin. But now’s my chance, yeah? Maybe I can stop the bloody bastard before he can hurt anyone else.

I look into my old eyes and ears I trust the most, a couple are still up for it, some are not, and some are dead.

Tragedy

I start my own little investigation into Talon and Beloved of Ma’at. And there’s a sense of old thrill to it. Don’t got Overwatch hounding my back, it’s just me, a board connecting the dots, and nights without Zandra home for me to go check them out.

Turns out Beloved’s been doing some heavy recruiting the last month. But just don’t know why. It might lead to somewhere, might give me a clue if the two are allies or enemies and just what are they trying to get at.

Maybe all of this will lead to Widowmaker.

I...don’t tell Zandra about it, it’s just gon’ worry her more, yeah?

And I haven’t run into any trouble yet. Trying my best to stay safe.

Friday noon, two weeks after the bathtub talk, we invite Lucio over for lunch.

“Hey hey, how’s it hanging?”

He has no idea about the bombshell we’re about to drop on him.

Poor sod.

* * *

 

Lucio eyes me skeptically when I slide him a brew and tell him he’s gon’ need it.

Zandra doesn’t tell him everything she told me. But his eyes widen when she tells him about Murcat, Talon, and her kidnapping in Belarus. His mouth hangs open when she reveals Murcat’s DNA being found in the blood lock.

And he drinks the last half of his beer in one chug.

“So... He’s alive.” he mutters in a daze.

“It would seem so, at least at the time of Anubis. Talon hasn’t claimed responsibility for the attack but Murcat definitely did not do this alone.”

“I told ya’ he’s a snake, mate.”

“Trace, I never said I didn’t believe you-” he’s trying to dodge the blame, pin it back onto me.

“Bloody hell you did, told me I was nutters for offin’ him. He ain’t the angel you think he is.” The stress has been eating me alive.

“I know, Lena!” I snap my mouth shut when I finally realize how pained he looks. Got so carried away for proving myself right that I forgot that the lad’s my friend. We were doing so well, it’s gon’ be harder than I thought trying to smooth this over innit?

“Man, this is really fucked up.”

Lucio crumples into his chair like an unstrung puppet. The bridge of his nose gets pinched and rolled in his hand as he lets out a weary sigh.

“You know where he is now?” He asks.

Zandra looks back at him with sympathetic eyes, can’t tell if she actually has anything to say but her silence is a clear answer.

“Fuck confidentiality bullshit.” Lucio snaps angrily, waving his arm out. After a few heavy breaths, he lets out another groan and apologizes, “it’s fine, sorry, it’s not your fault.”

“Apologies, even if I had information, I have already told the both of you too much.”

We flinch at the sound of Zandra’s wrist holo chiming. I glance at the time as she excuses herself to the hallway to take it, it’s only 1413, she don’t got work for another two hours. Bet they rigged the thing to listen in. Like them conspiracy vids and the government's spyin’ on us. 

“They’re calling me in early tonight,” she grumbles out when she returns, circling around to me and I tilt my head up to meet her lips hallway. “Maybe this will mean I’ll be home earlier.”

“I’ll hold ya’ to that” I grin back up at her. Zandra puts another quick one on my nose before straightening back up.

“No promises.” She nips back playfully.

Except it sorta hits us at the same time; the weight of what just happened. How she almost didn’t come back. Our smiles flicker and falter, but in the end, they’re just smaller, a bit more grateful.

Zandra walks up behind Lucio, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Don’t think I’ve ever seen her do that to Lucio, but I think the lad needs it.

“Until tomorrow, Lucio.” Her thumb is rubbing circles on his shoulder.

“Catch you later.”

Sorrow

Sympathy

A sadness that’s swallowing us whole

I hear the door open, shut, and then lock. For a second we sit in silence staring at our empty bottles.

“’nother brew, mate?” I get up and start heading to the kitchen.

“Fuck please. I’m gonna need a whole six pack at this rate.”

Poor lad, it’s hitting him hard and I know alcohol ain’t the answer but right now, it’s what we got.

“I’ve been poking around with my old contacts.” I begin, returning to the table with two bottles in each hand. He mumbles a thank you and takes the ones in my left hand. “I got some leads if you want in.”

Feels a bit risky telling him about my little investigation. What if he goes off and rats me out to Zandra, course she’s gon’ tell me to stop. But, I dunno, when I do my little runs. Makes me feel alive, like I’m making a difference.

I miss it.

“I don’t know man.” Lucio says softly, his usual voice now muted. It sounds like he’s choking up but his eyes are clear; just empty…vacant. It hurts to say that they look very similar to mine on the bad days.

His hands fiddle with the calf of his prosthetic. When they come back up, a crumpled scrap of fabric is tossed onto the table. It’s white with little tacos printed on it. Is that from Reyes’ boxers we found all those years ago?

“All that time I spent being mad at you made me realize it’s about time I let him go. Dead or not, he’s not part of my life anymore, you know? Like you always say, I can’t let the past rule over me.”

The scrap disappears into his tightly clenched fist.

“Ho man, it’s bringing back memories, Trace. We had our own little ‘Murcat’ when we were kicking those damned Vishkar out of Rio. His name was Bryant Canada, weird name but he was a hell of a guy. One of my best friends...Used to be.”

He takes a long drink of the bottle as do I. I’ve never heard him tell this story before.

“Said he was going to scout out the warehouse where they were keeping parts for those sonic things they set up all over the place. Those things were fucking nasty, flip of a switch could toss you onto your back with vomit on your shirt. Sometimes they would ‘enforce curfew’ and knock out entire blocks of people. Just like that, a 5 minute warning and bam, everyone would just crumple to the floor asleep wherever they were until morning.

People got hurt. It made us mad, made us fight harder to get the Vishkar out.

Bryant never showed up the next day and we all thought he got nabbed but there wasn’t a news report, nothing. He just vanished and we started asking questions. One night he shows up at my house, gets me to sneak out without waking my family so we could chat. We went back to the warehouse where he said he found something I needed to see.

He fucking led me into a trap, Trace. Wanted to show me that the Vishkar actually cared about us and were trying to improve our lives and other propaganda bullshit. The guy knew I was one of the main players of the resistance and I thought I could fucking trust him.

I didn’t give him a chance to explain himself, I wrestled one of the sonic guns out of a cronies’ hands and blasted him back into some kind of equipment. I still hear it sometimes...Whatever he hit made his scream sound through all the speakers through the town. I…Try not to think about it anymore.”

“That story sounds lot like mine, Lucio” I don’t know if I feel angry about it or what.

“And that’s why I felt like such a shit after I blew up in your face. I saw my mistakes in you and, well, fuck maybe I thought you’d make better choices than me or something. It’s fucked up.”

I understand where he’s coming from but I can’t look past the hypocrisy, my annoyance sputters up just a bit. Don’t got to verbally say it, I’d just be making things worse, but it’s there, a sort of distance I feel opening up between us and I hate that it’s there.

It’ll never be the same, just different.

“So to answer your question, I think I’ll pass and try to move on. Do some healing of my own. If he wants that life, he’s totally free to choose it. But he better pray that Talon doesn’t start shit on my home turf.” Lucio growls out the last bit, the sadness in his voice being replaced with anger; the promise of fierce protection. He looks back up to me, eyes softening a bit. “Maybe you should too. We’re not soldiers anymore, we’re just normal people now. Let some others fight the good fight for a bit, I think we deserve a break.”

That stirs something in me, a bitter anger I can’t help even though I think relaxing as a normal bloke sounds grand. I try to focus on it, like the doc says, pick it apart to see why I’m feeling it. But think I’m a bit too buzzed to do it, or it’s something else.

All I know is, I don’t think I want to stop helping people.

Maybe he’s right and it’s better if we left all this well enough alone.

But I don’t want to.

_I don’t know_

“I just don’t know, mate.”

 


End file.
